


17th Day of Last Seed, 4E 201

by YSMIR (ravenswritingdesk)



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Animal Death, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Skyrim Main Quest, Skyrim Spoilers, Video & Computer Games, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2020-04-08 08:05:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19103080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenswritingdesk/pseuds/YSMIR
Summary: A Nord from Cyrodiil is taken prisoner when caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. He is taken to Helgen, and things take a turn for the worst when a black dragon shows up out of nowhere, sending all of the settlement into chaos and panic. A kindly Imperial soldier helps him escape with his life.





	1. I.I UNBOUND

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Though my character's dialogue, thoughts, and actions are largely my own writing, a good chunk of NPC dialogue has been borrowed from the video game script and those of you that have avidly played Skyrim will know exactly where those points are. Some areas I took creative liberties, but for the most part, NPC dialogue came from the script. Some dialogue that isn't in the script I added because it sounded right in the situation.

The wagon pulled slowly into a small settlement. Among its occupants were a horse thief, Ulfric Stormcloak, and another young man that had been picked up along the way by Imperial officers. Everybody on this wagon had something in common - they were wanted men. All except the young man - he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. If one asked his name, they'd find it was Andrel. He was a Nord like the others, but he had crossed the border from the southern region of Cyrodiil, north into the Rift of Skyrim.

He was considerably younger than the others in this forsaken cart, and didn't look like he could be much older than thirty. He had light skin, dark hair, and his face was marked with fresh stubble from not having shaven in the past couple days. From what he understood, the one named Ulfric was slated for execution here, but others would meet the Divines today as well. He was numb and his thoughts reached back to Bruma, the little village he'd left behind and called his home. He wasn't ignorant to the strife in Skyrim - he'd actually left to join the Legion and something pulled him to the northern province of Tamriel. If these Thalmor justiciars knew his faith, they'd justify his own execution like that. One less Talos worshipper in the world was a blessing to them.

One by one, each of the prisoners descended from the back of the cart and filed off to the side. The horse thief named Lokir tried to escape, but was swiftly taken down by an arrow to his back. When it was Andrel's turn, the presiding soldier spoke directly to him. "Wait, you there! Step forward. Who are you?" he asked. There was a parchment held in his hand and the bending of the paper showed him there was a list of names, there.

His voice was low, but he complied. "Andrel, of Bruma," he spoke. His hands were bound in front of him like the others were, and his eyes darted around the settlement.

The brow of the soldier before him furrowed as he looked at Andrel, and turned to another. "You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman. Captain, what should we do with him? He's not on the list," the soldier pointed out.

"Forget the list. He goes to the block," a female Redguard replied.

The soldier seemed to be disappointed by that response, but nodded. "By your orders, Captain." He turned again to Andrel, a hint of remorse etched in his face. "I'm sorry. At least you'll die here, in your homeland. Follow the Captain, prisoner."

He exhaled heavily through his nose, knowing whatever he might have to say might make matters worse and made his way to join the others. The General, identified earlier on the wagon as Tullius, was standing there with a priestess and the headsman. The air seemed thick around him and he swallowed back another breath, watching as the execution began.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," Tullius began, "Some here in Skyrim call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his King and usurp his throne."

Ulfric, whose mouth was covered by a gag, growled briefly.

Tullius wasted no time finishing his speech and seemed to ignore the defiance completely. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace."

As soon as he said that last word, a mysterious sound echoed through the little valley. It sent chills through Andrel's body, and whatever the sound was, it caught the attention of the soldier from earlier.

"What was that?" he asked.

"It's nothing. Carry on," ordered Tullius, stepping away to the side to watch.

"Yes, General Tullius!" he heard the Captain reply. A Stormcloak soldier was called forth, and the Captain turned to the priestess. "Read them their last rites."

The priestess lifted her hands skyward and she began to speak. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you!"

She was still speaking but before she could finish, she was rudely interrupted by the soldier they'd called forth. "For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with."

"As you wish," she shot back as he approached the chopping block. He got on his knees, his body pushed forward with the Captain's boot.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" were his last words before the headsman's axe swung down, separating his head from his body. Blood pooled in the dirt below the chopping block, staining the ground crimson.

He didn't realize until then that he was shivering. It wasn't cold outside, but the prospect of his death coming for him so soon was getting the best of him. He was called for next by the Captain, and sent a few silent prayers to the Divines to take care of his mother and father back in Cyrodiil. How would the news of his execution even reach them? A thousand questions spilled into his brain, none of which would be answered before he died. The time was now, and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

The sound from earlier came again, and once again the soldier spoke. "There it is again! Did you hear that?"

"I said, next prisoner!"

He heard the soldier speak to him directly, his voice gentle. Everything about his tone told him he didn't belong here, that he should have been freed the second he got off the cart and they found he wasn't on that damned list. "To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."

He was sure that last part meant his death would be swift and painless. He supposed it'd be a better way to die than the horse thief, who'd probably spent his last few moments gasping for air and choking on his own blood before he eventually passed out. Pushing those morbid thoughts out of his head, he knelt down the same as the soldier before him, the fresh stench of blood making him light-headed in the moment. He didn't have a weak stomach by any means, but the helplessness in this situation would have made the most hardy man delirious with nerves.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the headsman lift his axe and he tensed in anticipation. Suddenly, a black winged beast swooped overhead. It let out a roar identical to the ones they'd been hearing.

"What in Oblivion is that?!" shouted the General.

"Sentries! What do you see?" he heard the Captain say.

"Dragon!" he heard another cry out as the beast finally landed with a strong thud on the tower above them. The very ground trembled under the weight of the impact and for just a moment, he met eyes with the creature. He could feel his heart practically drop to his stomach in fear. Though among fear, there was also something else but he couldn't pinpoint what it was.

The dragon's maw opened and with it came the release of a boom so powerful it darkened the skies. This was something he'd only heard about in legends and old tales. Everyone thought the dragons had been dead, but here was one of them, flesh and blood. Chaos broke out and everyone around him fled for safety. He lifted his head to see Ralof - a Stormcloak soldier from the cart he'd come on.

"Come with me, kinsman! The Gods won't give us another chance!"

Andrel wasn't going to wait for this damn dragon to kill him. He got up immediately and ran for the other tower just ahead of him, only to find the reason he'd been sent here to Helgen was hiding inside as well. Ulfric had escaped to the same tower and his binds were loosened. He heard them talking about what was happening outside, but didn't stay long enough to listen. He was going to escape - one way or another.

Running up the spiraled steps of the tower, he was knocked back as the wall was blasted through with the dragon's head. Another Stormcloak was incinerated in front of his eyes but the dragon didn't stick around to further the damage done to the tower. Looking outside the gaping hole for an escape route, he spotted it. There was an inn somewhat close to the tower. If he got enough momentum…

Perhaps it was the adrenaline that helped him, but he ran forward and jumped through, trying to land in the destroyed side of the inn. He just barely made it, landing in such a way that his knees buckled under him and he grunted. It wasn't painful now, but he'd be feeling it the next day- if he ever made it out of here alive. Scrambling to his feet again, he sought a way down to the ground floor. His mobility was restricted - he'd not thought to have his own binds cut before he started running. Eventually he'd regrouped with the soldier from earlier. He was trying to coax a boy out of the path of dragon fire, but took notice of him and seemed to be relieved that he was okay, albeit a little worse for wear.

"Still alive, prisoner? Stay close to me if you want to stay that way. Gunnar! Take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense!"

He wasn't about to argue with that, and nodded. His heart was pounding in his chest. He finally mustered the strength to speak again, and nudged the soldier with his elbow. "What's your name? I feel like I should know it, given we're still alive. I can fight, we just need to get to safety, first."

"Hadvar," he finally introduced himself. "We'll get out of here, I promise you that. Now move! Follow me and stay close to the wall!"

The pair rushed forward through a narrow alleyway, and the dragon perched just above them, sending another round of flames at something they couldn't see. The entire outpost was in devastated shambles by now. Burned corpses were strewn everywhere, mixed with the charred wood of the destroyed buildings. As soon as it flew away, they ran ahead. All around him, he could see Imperials and Thalmor Justiciars trying in vain to fight this harbinger of doom. Someone on one of the battlements was picked up and thrown to the ground. Just ahead was the fort, and Hadvar wasted no time escorting him inside.

Once he was inside, he coughed violently into the crook of his arm. The action was catching up to him, but at least now he was in good company.

"Looks like we're the only ones that made it," Hadvar said, looking around the fort. "Was that really a dragon? The bringers of the end times? We should keep moving. Come here and let me get those bindings off."

A dagger cut through the rope keeping his hands together, and he rubbed at his wrists for a moment. The skin was a little irritated and raw from rope burns but he didn't care. He was alive. An iron sword rested on a rack nearby, and he rummaged the chests for armor. The sword was still sharp enough to fight with, and he fixed the sheath to his belt. He'd come to Skyrim with supplies of his own but they were all lost at Darkwater Crossing when he'd been picked up in the ambush. With any luck, he'd be able to return soon to see if any of his belongings could be salvaged. One of them was his own steel sword, which his father had crafted for him years before he left. He didn't care about anything else as long as he could get that sword.

"Thank-" Andrel started.

"Don't thank me yet, lad. We're not out of here yet."

It took them nearly half an hour to navigate through the fort. They were apprehended by several Stormcloaks on the way out, all of which were killed. When they finally reached a cavern, it was only a matter of time before they made their escape. First came the spiders - they were impossibly large and spat venom at the two Nords, surrounding them. Sharpened iron cut and slashed through the giant arachnids with ferocity, until the cavern floor was littered with their bodies.

"What's next, giant snakes?" Hadvar asked, sheathing his sword. He was trying to lighten the mood, and it worked. Andrel actually chuckled.

"Let's get out of here. The path is getting lighter, there has to be a way out somewhere down the way," he replied, pressing forward. The next cavern had a sleeping bear, and for some reason there was a wooden cart of wine. Buried underneath the empty bottles was a pouch tied with a string. He picked it up and felt the weight of it in his hand. Something jingled inside, and he knew it had to be a small loot of Septims. At least now he'd have a little money to buy food and a place to sleep.

He ultimately decided to sneak past the bear. The cave was getting narrower, and as they turned the corner, he could see sunlight pouring in. He could also see pine trees outside the cave's exit and knew they'd reached safety. Hadvar seemed to be mentally synchronized with him, because they both started running for the exit.

As soon as they exited, Hadvar yanked Andrel down by a large boulder as the dragon flew overhead. They stayed very still and very quiet, praying to the Divines that they wouldn't be spotted. They'd come too far to die, now. As soon as the beast was gone, Andrel sank to the floor and let out a shaky sigh of relief. He didn't know how to react to any of this. His heart broke for the innocent people that died in the chaos, but at the same time he was overjoyed to have escaped this with such an excellent companion at his side - a man he decided now that he would gladly die for if that came to it.

Nords like himself didn't wholly judge you by how you lived - it was how you died that usually mattered most. There were always exceptions to this custom, of course. Redemption of your sins was not always given even if you 'died a hero's death'. But this alone was a tragedy. He was grateful to be alive, but it just didn't seem fair that this dragon should postpone his death while bringing it to so many other people that were, like him, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. An irrational part of his brain had him wanting to die a hundred times in their places so they might see another day.

Little did he know, his unbound wrists would soon allow him to avenge their deaths.  
There was no time for tears, now. He had work to do.


	2. I.II BEFORE THE STORM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY: Andrel is mistakenly imprisoned by Imperial forces in an ambush for Ulfric Stormcloak. Taken to Helgen, he is slated for execution among Ulfric's men. Before he can meet his death by the blade of an axeman, a dragon swoops down and causes mass confusion. He escaped Helgen with his life, and only by the help of an Imperial officer that never wanted him on that wagon, to begin with.

The trouble seemed to have cleared for now.

Hadvar pulled Andrel down behind a boulder, his eyes directed skyward. The same dragon that had just decimated Helgen flew directly overhead, and Andrel could feel his heart sink in his chest in anticipation. A few moments, and the beast had flown away. 

"Looks like he's gone for good, this time. Let's not stick around to see if he comes back," Hadvar commented. "Closest town is Riverwood. My uncle is the blacksmith there. He can help you. For now it's best we split up, but I wish you luck. I know things weren't great back there, but the Legion could really use someone like you." 

It was true. He'd nearly lost his life back there if it weren't for the dragon, and even then he didn't think his chances of survival were so great for a moment. His body was sore and cut in multiple places. "You go on. Thank you for helping me escape." 

A silent nod given, and the now-free man watched as his comrade-in-arms started making his way back to civilization. Scanning his hands over any open wounds he had, he used a simple healing spell to close them, though they all left a scar behind. 

Downhill he began to travel. A vague dirt path led him finally to a more-defined cobblestone road. His sword was sheathed for now, and he kept an eye on the plants he passed. Flowers, cotton, and thistle dotted the landscape around him, and pine trees towered over him everywhere he looked. It wasn't so different from Bruma, here. As he followed the pathway, he could hear the White River roaring with life in the distance. Later on when things had calmed down for him and he recovered his pack, he would return and gather alchemy ingredients. 

As he got closer to the river, he made his way down another dirt path to a small clearing. A hunter's camp was nearby and he could see a Redguard man sitting on a cut log beside the water, a fishing pole laid next to him. Scooping some of the water out, he cleansed his face and hands of the ash, blood, and soot that was clinging to his skin. The water muddled as the filth washed away and for the first time in a few days, he'd seen his reflection in the water. He was covered in grime, and a simple splash in the river wouldn't be enough to rinse it all away. 

Settling on his appearance for now, he stood again and made his way back up to the pathway. Up above the skies were blue, but dotted with clouds; it was bound to rain, soon. Between the trees, he could see massive stone structures. He'd seen them on the way down, as well, and he was drawn to them. The reason why -- he couldn't put his finger on, but the very mountains seemed to whisper to him, like a siren's singing. 

As he continued down the path, he could see fish jumping out of the rapids of the river. A glance up, and he noticed a small pack of wolves laying dead in the pathway. He reckoned they must have attacked Hadvar on his way in. Three wolves would grant him a decent amount of leather to make some new armor, but would also be time-consuming. You couldn't even eat them without risking some sort of disease. Pulling the bodies up off the road, he left them for nature to take care of the rest. 

A little further up the road, and he saw the great wooden gate that marked the entrance of Riverwood from his end. As he entered, he didn't see Hadvar or Alvor outside, but could smell the smithing forge. Every single building in this small village was made of wood. The people here were sitting ducks if a dragon happened upon them, and there were only a small handful of guards. 

_"Dragon! I saw a dragon!"_ an elderly woman spoke as he passed. 

**"What is it now, mother?"**

_"It was big as a mountain, and black as night! It flew right over the Barrow!"_

He didn't stay to listen to the rest of their conversation, but he knew she must have been referring to the stone structures he'd seen on his way down. He made his way to the door of the house attached to the smithing forge and knocked on the door. He was told to come in and opened the door, stepping in to see Hadvar sitting there with his uncle. 

_"Sigrid! We have company!"_ Alvor called as Andrel closed the door. Hadvar pulled a chair for him and motioned for him to sit down. A few moments later, a woman came upstairs and moved to sit down next to her husband. Alvor turned to Hadvar. _"Now, then, boy. What's the big mystery? What were you doing, looking like you lost an argument with a cave bear?"_

"I don't know where to start," Hadvar replied, leaning forward. "I was assigned to General Tullius's guard. We were stopped in Helgen when we were attacked... by a dragon." 

_"That's... ridiculous. You aren't drunk, are you, boy?"_

Sigrid nudged Alvor with her elbow, her voice stern but gentle. _"Husband. Let him tell his story."_

Hadvar continued to explain what happened, and looked over at Andrel as he explained how he might not have made it out alive if it hadn't been for his help. "I need to get back to Solitude and let them know what happened. I thought you could help us out. Food, supplies, a place to stay." 

_"Of course! Any friend of Hadvar's is a friend of mine. I'm glad to help in any way I can."_ Alvor insisted, resting his hand on Andrel's shoulder. _"Please, lad. There's a bit of gold laying around. We make plenty to stay comfortable, here. There's some over on that table, and another pouch in the chest by my bed behind you. Take it, it's yours. I'm glad to help. But - I need your help. **We** need your help. The Jarl needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenseless. We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever soldiers he can. If you'll do that for us, I'll be in your debt."_

Pulling out a few pieces of handcrafted jewelry, he also offered those to Andrel. "Take these, too. They'll fetch you a little more so you can properly arm yourself. That sword you've got there looks to be rather old." 

He allowed himself a chuckle. "I reckon it is, but it did good enough to get me out of there. Thank you for the hospitality, my friend. I did manage to get some gold out of Helgen and I'll use that to rent a room. It's getting late and I want to get to the Jarl immediately. I'll rest when I'm in Whiterun. Divines protect you all." 

"Safe travels, my boy. The Bannered Mare in Whiterun will have rooms. We cannot thank you enough. Please send the Jarl my regards." 

A curt nod of his head, and he stepped outside. As he suspected, it started to rain, but it was a welcome change of weather. He wouldn't be cold, and it would help to wash away some of the filth. Heading down the road to the other end of the small village, he crossed the bridge. Again, he could see the Barrow and hear those mysterious whispers in his thoughts. He thought he might be going crazy, but he'd been through a lot. All he needed was to get to Whiterun, tell the Jarl what happened, and get some rest. 

Whiterun was a decent distance from Riverwood, but he could see the city's stone wall in the distance. He didn't exactly understand how a simple wall was supposed to stop a dragon from wreaking havoc, considering they could fly. A line of Imperial soldiers were traveling down the path just ahead of him. They hadn't seen him yet, so instead he elected to go straight down the hill, rather than follow the pathway. Hadvar had warned him to steer clear of Imperial soldiers until he could talk to General Tullius on his behalf. 

As he reached the bottom, he rejoined with the pathway just outside Honningbrew Meadery. The city wasn't too far away, and he began running down the road until he reached the stables. A single black horse was crunching at a bail of hay, sheltering herself from the rain. Pushing his dampened hair out of his face, he continued to run towards the gate until he was stopped by a guard keeping watch at the door. 

_"Halt. City's closed with the dragons about. Official business only."_

Catching his breath, Andrel spoke up. "Riverwood calls for the Jarl's aid. They only have a few guards there, and it's not enough to fend off a dragon." 

_"Riverwood's in danger, too?"_ he heard the guard say through his helmet. _"The Jarl will want to speak with you directly. Go through the gates and keep going straight up the path. Dragonsreach is up top and that's where you'll find him."_

"Thank you," he responded, stepping through the heavy gate that barred him outside. Just inside was a street full of buildings made from both brick and wood. Whiterun seemed to be a little more durable than Riverwood, and he continued up the pathway. It was getting late and most people had went inside. Continuing up the pathway, he saw the Bannered Mare. His head turned to the left, eyes wandering up the staircase to the next level of the city. As he reached the top stair, he was greeted with a circular walkway surrounding a large tree that looked to be dead. In the distance was a great stone eagle with spread wings, the belly glowing from a fire below. 

Finally, he saw his true destination - the great hall that rested over the rest of the city. Just before the staircase leading up was a clearing with a massive statue of Talos. He would visit it tomorrow, but Riverwood was his priority. Quick steps carried him up the stairs and finally he entered the giant doors of Dragonsreach. When he got inside, voices echoed to the end of the hall as he approached the throne. 

_"I only council caution. We cannot afford to act rashly in times like these,"_ a man advised. He sounded like an Imperial. 

_"What would you have me do, then? Nothing?"_

_"My lord, please. This is no time for rash action. I just think we need more action before we act. I just..."_

_"Who's this, then?"_ the Jarl asked, finally noticing him. A Dunmeri woman drew her blade as she approached him. She looked ready to gut him if he even so much as breathed wrong. 

"Please, Riverwood is in danger," he defended. "I have news from Helgen, about the dragon attack." 

"Well, that explains why the guards let you in. Come on then, the Jarl will want to speak to you personally," she concluded, sheathing her weapon again before allowing him to approach the throne. Above the Jarl's head was a dragon's skull. Glancing back down, his eyes met with those of Jarl Balgruuf. 

"Now, lad. Tell me, what's this all about?" 

"To be honest, I came to Skyrim from Cyrodiil. I was at Darkwater Crossing when I ran into an Imperial ambush for Ulfric Stormcloak." 

The Jarl sighed. "I should have guessed Ulfric was mixed in this, somehow. What happened?" 

"The Imperials took me prisoner with Ulfric's men. I was taken with him and his other soldiers to Helgen. I was _in his wagon_. When we got to Helgen, my name was not on their list, but I was second in line to be executed, and that's when the dragon came. The axeman was just about to cut off my head. It crashed down on the tower above us, and before we knew it, Helgen was in complete chaos. Another Imperial soldier helped me get out of there alive and bid me to come to you." 

"By the Divines, boy..." the Jarl replied. "Irileth was right, Proventus. What do you say, now? Should we continue to trust the strength of our walls against a dragon?" 

Irileth spoke up before the Jarl's steward could. "My lord, we should send some troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger. If that dragon is lurking in the mountains..." 

_"The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him! We should not-"_

"Enough!" the Jarl shouted. "I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people! Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once." 

"Yes, my Jarl." 

"If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties..." Proventus spoke. 

"That would be best," replied the Jarl. Andrel watched as Irileth and Proventus left the Jarl, who then turned to him. "Well done. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it. Here, take this as a small token of my esteem." 

The Jarl's maid presented him with a fresh set of clothes and a new cuirass to replace the weathered one he was wearing. "Thank you, my Jarl." 

"Of course, lad. There is another thing you could do for me... Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps. Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and... _rumors of dragons_."


	3. I.III BLEAK FALLS BARROW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY: After a brief stop in Riverwood, Andrel made it to Whiterun as Hadvar advised him to, and warned the Jarl of the dragon.

_Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and... rumors of dragons."_

Andrel followed the Jarl off to the right side of the great hall and into a large room where a man in a bluish-purple robe was waiting. Upon seeing the pair he snapped his book shut and laid it on top of his desk. 

"Farengar," the Jarl spoke. "I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill him in with all the details." 

The court wizard bowed his head in respect to the Jarl before turning to his new company. "So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me? Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me. Er, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or _may not_ actually be there." 

"So, what's this got to do with the dragons?" he asked, clutching his new wears to himself. 

"Ah, no mere brute mercenary," Farengar smiled. "A scholar, perhaps? When the stories of dragons began circulating, most dismissed them. Of course, one sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible. But I began to search for information about dragons -- where had they gone all those years ago? And where were they coming from? This tablet marks dragon burial sites." 

"So, where am I going to get this tablet that may or may not actually be there?" he asked. 

"Right to the point. You're eager to go, aren't you?" Farengar laughed. "It's not far from here. Bleak Falls Barrow. If you came from Riverwood, retrace your steps back and take the other fork after that little bridge. Should take you right up there. I'm sure if the tablet is there, it will be in the main chamber." 

"I promise you all, I will go investigate the Barrow tomorrow. For now, I believe I need to get what decent rest I can, and regain my bearings. I lost everything I was traveling with at Darkwater." 

"Of course, my boy. You're dismissed." 

Nodding to the Jarl, he exited Farengar's quarters and walked towards the large doors that lead to the exterior of the palace. In just a few minutes, he was down at the Bannered Mare, again. A bard played a lute and sang by the fireplace - something about a "Ragnar the Red". Approaching the barmaid, he sat on the stool. "How much for a room with a door?" he asked her, arm resting against the edge of the counter. 

"10 Septims, friend, and it's yours for the next day. Welcome to the Bannered Mare. If you need anything, I'm Hulda." 

Digging into a pouch he'd snatched from Helgen, he pulled out ten golden pieces and set them neatly into the palm of her hand. "Thank you." 

"Follow the stairs up. If you're hungry, Saadia is our cook. She'll get you something to eat," Hulda replied. "You look like you've had a rough day. There's a washroom downstairs with hot water and soap." 

He was exhausted and she couldn't be more right. His day was starting to catch up to him and he was starting to realize just how sore he actually was. "Don't get me started..." he laughed. "Thanks for the tip." 

Slinking off the chair, he went upstairs to find his room. His armor was laid on the bed along with his weapons. He'd buy a better sword and more arrows the next day. Gathering a linen roll, he walked back downstairs and sought out the trapdoor that lead into the lower level of the inn. A large tub was down there, which he filled with water that was just slightly too hot to the touch. 

Removing the dirty clothes he was wearing, he sank down into the water. The temperature bit at his skin and his eyes clenched closed as he shuddered. Settling into the water, it only took a few moments for his skin to acclimate to the heat. Rubbing the soap into his skin, he obsessed over getting every last speck of dirt he could off his skin and out of his hair. Dipping underwater, he resurfaced, his hair drenching his face in more hot water, which he used to scrub the last of the dirt away. 

There was a faint smell of juniper berries and honey remaining, and he grabbed the linen roll he'd brought down, drying himself off. There was a mirror in the room, and he used it to see how many new scars he'd gained today. While magic stopped the bleeding and sped the healing process, it didn't stop scars from forming. Pulling on the fresh tunic and trousers, he dried his hair off a little more and shook it out, combing through it with his fingers. 

Upstairs, he ordered a bottle of Honningbrew and a venison steak, which he ate at a corner table. The mead was saved for upstairs. A belly full of that, and he'd be warmed up and hopefully doze off before the night came to an end. He could still hear the people downstairs, but the sound was quieter and muffled with his door closed. 

Staring up at the ceiling, he eventually passed out under the covers. Images flashed in his head as he slept - mysterious runes, the great black dragon with scarlet-colored eyes, Helgen burning, and that same persistent whispering that'd been haunting him since he first saw the Barrows. Groaning and turning over on his stomach, he hid his head under the pillow, as if that might quiet his nightmares and let him rest in peace. 

A knock at his door jolted him a little more awake than he was already, and he answered it to see Saadia - the redguard woman that was working in the kitchen. She had a noticeable scar on her cheek but he tried to not pay mind to it. "Yeh?" he answered, rubbing his face. 

"I can hear you tossing and turning in your bed. You looked rough when you came in here. I brought something that might help you sleep. It's a sleeping draught; chamomile and lavender with a touch of honey." 

Brows furrowed as Saadia handed him a steaming mug. He took it from her as she offered it forward, a light smile given. Digging out a few more coins from his coin purse. "For your trouble. I had a bottle of Honningbrew but I don't believe it didn't anything to calm me before I slept. Thank you- it's a busy day tomorrow and I need all the rest I can get." 

"Of course," she smiled, turning away to let him get back to sleep. Closing his door, he sipped down the contents of the mug. The liquid was sweet and almost minty in flavor. Laying down, it took a few minutes for the ingredients to finally kick in but he was exhausted and sleep didn't take as long to come this time. When it did, it was deep. 

When morning came, he could hear the busy rustling of the maids downstairs. Sitting up, he stretched in a yawn. Pulling on the new armor the Jarl had given him, he took some time to count the coin he had left. He'd not visited anywhere he could trade the pieces of jewelry Alvor had given him the day, before. 

He wasn't even sure what day it was. Gathering his things and the mug from Saadia, he stood and left his room. Downstairs, the bard was tuning his instrument again. Stepping outside into the daylight, the civilians of Whiterun had crowded the marketplace and children were running around playing tag. Down the steps, he saw a man carrying firewood into a shop marked as "Belethor's General Goods". Holding the door open for him, he peered in. "Are you open at this time?" 

"We are, yes. Belethor is behind the counter, there. He can help you," the man answered, stepping inside. "Thank you, lad." 

Stepping up to the counter, he provided what provisions he could part with. "What can you give me for these in gold?" 

Belethor scanned over the items he presented and scratched his chin. A few moments of silence, and he set a good number of gold coins on his counter. "I think that should cover it. Is that all?" 

"Do you have any lockpicks in stock? I suspect I may need some for where I'm headed." 

Grabbing ten from below his counter, Belethor put them on the countertop. "This is all I've got. Will that be enough?" 

"It should be, yes." Taking a few coins from the stacks, he offered them back to Belethor. "That should do it. Are we at an agreement?" 

"Deal. Nice doing business with ya. Come back again!" 

A nod, and he left with his items. Down the road to the main gate of Whiterun, there was a weaponsmith - Warmaiden's. An Imperial woman was sat down at the sharpening wheel, a dagger spitting sparks as the edge collided with the whetstone of the wheel. Inside the building, there was a wall of weapons, ready for the picking. The first thing that caught his eye was a steel sword. Carefully he took it down from the rack to test its weight. 

A man was behind the counter and he peered over. "How much for this sword?" he asked. 

"45 Septims," the man responded. "The name's Ulfberth War-Bear. You look like someone who knows how to wield a weapon. Well, you've come to the right place." 

"45 Septims... I'll take it." Eyeing a shield, he took that, too. Stepping up to the counter, he dug out the gold he needed, and handed it off to Ulfberth. "This, too." 

"The shield's 60. That'll be 105 total." 

"Very well, then. Pleasure doing business with you." Sheathing his new sword and hanging his shield on his back with his quiver, he stepped out of Warmaiden's. It wasn't long to get back to Riverwood. The stableman was sat outside Whiterun's entry, and he approached. "I saw this horse here last night on my way into the city... How much are you asking for her?" 

"1000 Septims. She's a damn good warhorse. We call her Allie - short for Queen Alfsigr." 

"I don't have that right now... but I am interested in her. When, and if I return, I'll have enough coin for her." 

"A'ight. See you 'round." 

Nodding, he started walking back towards Honningbrew Meadery. Helgen likely laid in ashes by now. It was hard to take his mind off it. A four-way intersection just after Honningbrew stood before him. One bridge lead north, another to the east. Turning south, he began walking the path that lead back to Riverwood. Up ahead he could see another gray wolf off the side of the road, and there wasn't going to be any avoiding this one. 

Nocking an arrow onto his bowstring, he drew and released his arrow. It shot forth and landed in the wolf's shoulder, causing it to yelp loudly in pain. Drawing his sword, he prepared for the creature to charge at him. As it got close, he swept his sword forward, the tip ripping a fresh gash in the throat. Down it collapsed, and he swept the blade against the creature's coat before storing his weapon again. 

Eventually he reached the bridge to Riverwood again and this time, he took the alternate path up into the mountain. The higher he went, the colder and snowier it became, but the dropping temperature hardly bothered him. Nord blood like his naturally ran hotter than most other races of Men. As he rounded the corner, there was a lone tower sat on the edge of a cliff. It was in disrepair but the bridge was still functioning, and the tower itself was still standing. Outside was a tree, and a man dressed in hide armor was leaning against the tree. Eyes met, and he saw another cross the bridge. 

"Stop. That's close enough," he warned. They were bandits. Or highwaymen. 

"I don't suppose you're going to let me through here, are you?" 

"Not like a whelp like you could get past us, anyways. Run back to your little city, boy." 

His lip twitched and he drew his sword. "Why don't you come down here and call me a whelp to my face? Or are you too much of a _milkdrinker_ to fight me?" 

"You've a fiery mouth, youngun. It'll get you killed." The man drew his own blade and advanced on him. 

Andrel's hand outstretched, and the bandit was cloaked in a stream of flame. His screams echoed from the mountains as he tried to pat himself down. Distracted by the fire melting away his skin, he didn't even notice when Andrel's sword cut into the side of his neck. By now, the other had rushed down to fight him, as well. Striking forward, the second bandit tried to stab him, but was blocked with Andrel's sword. A fist swung forward, connecting with the bandit's jaw. His body launched forward, knocking him down into the snow. Down his sword went, piercing through vital organs before being pulled out. Blood pooled into the snowy ground below him, and an arrow pierced the ground next to him. 

He scrambled to his feet and ran for the top of the tower, preparing his own bow and arrow. Footsteps sounded from above and a woman came down the steps with her sword brandished. An arrow released, and it pierced her stomach. She fell from the steps and he shoved his sword into her back. Taking whatever he could use off her, he noticed a small nook. Discovered there was a chest with some more gold and a few more lockpicks for him. 

Pocketing his new finds, he looted the bodies of the other bandits and grabbed what he could find from the tower that would serve to be useful. 

Up the hill and around the corner, there it was - Bleak Falls Barrow. The exterior had been made of large stone bricks and chiseled carvings, and he could see a large door made right in the side of the mountain itself. Keeping his distance, he noticed three more bandits. Two patrolling the upper level, and another patrolling the stairs. Nocking another arrow, he crept forward, trying to stay out of sight. 

Focusing in on the woman descending the stairs, he released his arrow and it flew forward into her neck. Her yelp had attracted her friends from upstairs, and they both came tearing down the staircase. Nocking another arrow, he aimed for one of their legs and shot. An arrow would slow them down until he could defeat the first running at him. Again, he turned to his fire and sent a stream directly in the bandit's path, his fur armor catching fire. 

He wasn't here to fight, he was here to _live_. The Jarl was counting on him, and he was going to get to the bottom of this barrow, one way or another. Nobody was going to stop him, either. The deaths he delivered to these bandits were quick and to-the-point. When he finally reached the top of the stairs, he took one last look behind him before pulling the door open, stepping inside. It was dark, and he knew someone was bound to have seen him. As soon as he was inside, the bandits were too preoccupied with their conversation to even notice the door opening. They perhaps thought he was one of their own coming in for a break from the cold. 

He remained quiet and crept forward, hiding behind a pillar to listen in. 

"So we're just supposed to sit here while Arvel runs off with that golden claw?" one started. 

"That dark elf wants to go on ahead, let him. Better than us risking our necks." It was a Nord speaking. His back was turned to him, standing in front of the fire. The other one was sitting atop a chest. 

"What if Arvel doesn't come back? I want my share from that claw!" 

"Just shut it, and keep an eye out for trouble." 

By the time the conversation had finished, he'd silently drawn his dagger. Keeping to the shadows, he waited until he got close enough and ran the sharp edge of his blade against the Nord's throat. Blood sprayed out of the wound and his eyes met with the other, who charged at him. He kicked them back with his foot and switched his dagger to the other hand, twirling it in his hand. 

"You're gonna die here, boy!" the other snarled, pushing himself back up to charge, again. 

Their blade swept at him, clanging against the chest of his armor. Linking his elbow with the other man, he used his weight to slam his back into the pillar and shoved his sword deep into his abdomen. Fur armor might have been warm, but it didn't offer the same protection as steel and chainmail, heavy as it was. 

The man gargled and coughed up blood, and as he was released, Andrel knelt down and slit his throat as well to end him quicker. 

"Arkay rest your souls," he whispered. There was another chest here, and he picked the lock, opening it to find some more useful things and another small satchel of gold. 

_Het nok faal vahlok, deinmaar do dovahgolz, ahrk aan fus do unslaad, rahgol ahrk vulom..._

Again came the whispers, but they were stronger. _Clearer._ Before it was simply unintelligible and slurred together like a constant white noise. Now, the individual words called to him with easier distinction. It wasn't in a tongue he understood. The Divines clearly had something planned for him; yesterday should have made him a dead man. 

"If this is your idea of a joke... it's not very funny," he spoke out to them as if they might hear him. Continuing on through the barrow, he was eventually led downstairs. Up ahead was another bandit, but he stayed behind to observe. Nordic burial ruins were infamous for their traps and puzzles, and he had a feeling his work could be done for him simply by being patient. 

Watching ahead, he saw the man pull the lever. Razor-sharp darts whistled through the air and he heard the man cry in pain before falling over, dead. He finally allowed himself to move forward into the room. The way was barred closed with a sturdy gate, and the only way through was to pull the lever. But things were never _that_ easy. That given, some of the puzzles were ridiculously easy to solve, and it was best to not overthink them. 

To the left of the room stood three triangular columns. Each column had three sides, and each side had a different animal carved into it. Next to the way out was a stone face with a snake emblem in the opened mouth, and up above on the stairs, he could see another snake, and a whale. The middle seemed to have been destroyed, and this "disembodied" face fell from the center. 

"Two snakes, and a whale..." he muttered. Walking over to the columns, he pulled the columns around so the first two were snakes, and the next was a whale. This _had_ to be it. Turning around, he went to pull the lever, crossing his fingers. When the gate opened to let him through and no darts shot forth, he released a breath. 

Continuing on, he fought through every living thing that attacked him. He could hear a man calling out for help. _"Is...is someone coming? Is that you Harknir? Bjorn? Soling?"_

Brows furrowed, he approached the opening to the room. The arch was blocked with thick, sticky webbing and he could see a number of foul-smelling egg sacs through clear patches. More Frostbite spiders... 

He hacked his way into the room and there was a man caught in the webbing leading to the next room. A giant spider descended, which he threw more fire at. The spider began hissing in pain and tried to attack him. Slashing his sword at the arachnid's face, it didn't seem to faze them. It launched at him, and he stepped backwards as the spider spit venom. He had to be careful with his magic or he'd drain himself, but launched another attack, flames ripping at the spider's face. Running off to the side, he shoved his sword into the spider's side. 

A squeal echoed through the room, and it turned on him again. He ran out of the room and took cover for a moment before charging back in. _Fire, stab, fire, stab, fire, slash._ He wasn't sure how many times he'd taken cover from this stupid thing, but it was vicious and he was going to take his time killing the creature. One more time, he went into the room and threw in as many slashes or lunges with his sword as he could, using his shield to block the venom being spat at him. Eventually, his last stab did the trick. Taking a reprieve to heal himself of any injuries, he turned to the man caught in the web. 

"Good, you killed it! Now, get me out of here before something else comes." 

"Where's the claw?" he asked. "I know you have it." 

"Yes, yes! The golden claw! I know how to use it. If you cut me down, I'll help you to the Hall of Stories and split the profits with you if you help me out of here!" 

"Why should I believe you? You're with these bandits, are you not? I cut you down, and you run off on me. Or you try to kill me. I've already killed your friends upstairs, as well as your patrols outside. And more, before then." 

"Are you daft, boy? Does it look like I can even move? Cut me down, and I promise you, I'll give you the claw." 

Andrel didn't truly believe a word this man was saying. He was sure this had to be Arvel the Swift, however. For the moment, he played along. "Fine, fine. I'll cut you down and you can help me to the Hall of Stories." 

"Sweet breath of Arkay, finally!" 

Pulling out his dagger, he did his best to cut Arvel out of the webbing that kept him stuck. As he suspected, the second he cut Arvel down, the fetcher tried to run off with the golden claw. He snatched the back of Arvel's shirt and yanked him back until Arvel crashed into his chest, backwards. One rough slice across the dark elf's neck, and he whispered. "Not so swift, are you, Arvel the Swift? Never lie to me, Arvel the _Dead_." 

As the Dunmer fell to the ground sputtering and clutching his throat, Andrel dug into Arvel's pack and pulled out the claw and a journal. He opened the journal, reading the contents. 

_My fingers are trembling. The Golden Claw is finally in my hands, and with it, the power of the ancient Nordic heroes. That fool Lucan Valerius had no idea that his favorite store decoration was actually the key to Bleak Falls Barrow._

_Now I just need to get to the Hall of Stories and unlock the door. The legend says there is a test that the Nords put in place to keep the unworthy away, but that "when you have the golden claw, the solution is in the palm of your hands."_

_Lucan Valerius_. That name belonged to a shopkeeper in Riverwood. He took a moment to chuckle at this. How in Oblivion did such an ancient artifact end up being somebody's store decoration? No matter. He had it now, and while he had every intention to return it, he was going to make his use of it. Further down through the tunnel, the barrow was crawling with bandits, traps, and undead mummy-like Draugr that reanimated when they sensed the movement of intruders. He fought through anything that attacked him, looted whatever treasures he could access, and outsmarted the skeletons and Draugr with the traps set throughout. 

Bloody and bloodied, he finally reached what he assumed to be the Hall of Stories. Reading over the symbols on the golden claw, he aligned the animal symbols as they were supposed to be on the door. Slots were made specifically for the claw's talons, and he turned the lock loose. The lock activated the mechanism that kept the door to the main chamber shut, and he watched as it lowered itself until he could go forward. His heart was racing in his chest, and the whispers were even stronger. 

As he got further into the main chamber, it dipped into an old, beautiful grotto. There was a stream that poured in from somewhere outside. The first thing that caught his eye, was a massive wall. As he got closer, the whispers started turning to loud chanting. The entire wall was marked with the same runes from his dreams that last night, but some of them stood out to him more than the others. 

_ fus _

The Wall was calling him to come closer, and whatever power it was that called him, was almost hypnotic in nature. As he got closer, his vision blurred as his head filled with words in both the foreign tongue and his own language. 

_Here lies the guardian_  
Keeper of dragonstone  
And a **force** of unending  
Rage and darkness 

He knew what the words meant, now. As his vision came to, the heavy stone lid of a coffin blew open and he turned to see the head of a Draugr lifting. It climbed out of its resting place, and he could tell this one would be tougher than any of the previous ones he'd fought. Preparing his shield and sword in a hurry, he barely had time to react before the Draugr opened his mouth. 

_ FUS RO DAH! _

The sheer force sent him flying backward, and he landed hard on the floor. Coughing, he struggled to get up again. The last time that'd happened, he'd been a prisoner in Helgen. Grunting, he hunched his shoulders and made his way back to fight this thing. They met half way, and as he saw the Draugr about to strike with his own sword, he lifted his shield to block him, bashing him backwards before slashing his sword forth. His blade caught with the Draugr's body, and their blade hit him in return. It hurt, but the chainmail under his armor shielded his body from the edge of the Draugr's blade. 

For nearly three minutes he fought. He'd been struck a fair few times and thrown like a ragdoll with the power of that shout, but eventually he landed the killing strike, his sword digging into the creature's neck. Over it fell, and inside the stone coffin, he finally found what he was _truly_ looking for - the Dragonstone that Farengar requested. His heart was racing with the adrenaline, and he took a few more moments to heal over any injuries he'd taken. His falls had scratched his face up a decent bit, but he was alive and had made it through the worst parts of the Barrow. 

Collecting any treasures he could find, he made his way out of the Barrow and onto a ledge. The Dragonstone was secured against his back but heavy. Down he paced himself until he reached the ground again. The drop wasn't terribly high, but he didn't want to damage the Dragonstone. 

Eventually he made it back to Riverwood. He traded whatever goods he could with Alvor first, but then turned to the general store. Inside he found Lucan arguing with his sister. The shop looked a bit messy, like it'd recently been rummaged through. 

"I hate to interrupt but, I believe this golden claw belongs to you? I found it in Bleak Falls Barrow just a couple hours ago." 

"You found it? Ha ha ha. There it is. Strange... it seems smaller than I remembered. Funny thing, huh? I'm going to put this back where it belongs. I'll never forget this. You've done a great thing for me and my sister." Lucan set the claw atop his counter and dug out a rather large-looking coin purse. "This claw is priceless, but this should do it for your troubles! Thank you again for bringing our claw back!" 

"Of course. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to return to Whiterun. Those bandits won't be giving you any more trouble." Leaving the shop, he set back to Whiterun. When he entered Dragonsreach and made his way to Farengar's quarters, he removed his pack and set the Dragonstone on the table, grinning proudly. Farengar had been talking with a hooded woman leaning over a map on the table. 

"Ah! The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! Seems you are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way." 

"I got you the Dragonstone. What next?" 

"That's where your job ends, and mine begins, my friend. My associate here will be pleased to see your handiwork." 

" _You_ went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that? Nice work." she smiled at him before turning to Farengar. "Send me a copy once you've deciphered it."


	4. I.IV DRAGON RISING

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY: Andrel traveled to Bleak Falls Barrow per the Jarl's request and brought back the Dragonstone for Farengar. Their conversation is cut short by Irileth.

"Farengar!" Irileth shouted as she burst suddenly into the room. Andrel's head whipped around to see the Dunmer woman, and she looked between the pair. "Farengar, you need to come at once. A dragon's been sighted, nearby. You should come, too."

His heart sank in his chest. Farengar didn't seem to be perturbed - he was actually excited. 

"A dragon? Where was it seen? What was it doing?" 

"I'd take this a little more seriously if I were you. If it attacks Whiterun, I don't know if we can stop it." 

There wasn't any time to waste. He and Farengar went upstairs to the second level where a breathless guard was describing the events to Jarl Balgruuf. 

"Good work, son. We'll take it from here. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest. You've earned it. Irileth, you'd better gather some guardsmen and get down there." 

"I've already ordered my men to muster near the main gate." 

"Good. Don't fail me," the Jarl replied before turning to him. "There's no time to stand on ceremony, my friend. I need your help again. Go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon. You survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here." 

He nodded in agreement. Part of him feared it'd be the same dragon he saw in Helgen. How in Oblivion were they supposed to fight against _that_ and defeat him? "I will try my best, Jarl Balgruuf." 

"I haven't forgotten the service you did for me in retrieving the Dragonstone for Farengar. As a token of my esteem, I have instructed Avenicci that you are now permitted to purchase property in the city. And please accept this gift from my personal armory." 

"If we make it through this, I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, my Jarl. I'm going with Irileth now." 

"Talos guide you all." 

"And Arkay rest our souls." 

"Don't be so glum, boy." 

He smirked and turned to go downstairs with Irileth, following her closely out of the city. They met with her men just before the city gate where she rounded them up. 

"Here's the situation," she called out loudly, pacing before them. "A dragon is attacking the western watchtower. I don't much care where it came from or who sent it. What I do know is it's made the mistake of attacking Whiterun!" 

"But Housecarl...how can we attack a dragon?" one of the guards asked. 

"Fair question. None of us ever expected to face one in battle. But we are honor-bound to fight it, even if we fail. This dragon is threatening our homes...our families. Could you call yourselves Nords if you _ran_ from this monster? Are you going to let me face this thing alone? 

"We're so dead..." he heard one guard mutter. Biting back a laugh in spite of himself, he remained quiet and let Irileth speak her last piece. 

"But it's more than our honor at stake here. Think of it -- the first dragon seen in Skyrim since the last age. The glory of killing it is ours, if you're with me! Now what do you say? Shall we go kill us a dragon?" 

Speaking up, he looked to Irileth and the guards. "I'd like to say something." 

"What is it?" Irileth asked. 

"When you're fighting a dragon, I feel this is a bit obvious, and it is, but try to stay away from its mouth. If you're caught there, _run_. It doesn't just breathe fire. They have multiple attacks they can use, and I don't just mean the ability to bite and throw you," he spoke again, looking them all over. "When that black dragon attacked Helgen, one of the first things he did was release this wave of energy. It's enough to send several men flying. Our goal is going to be getting this beast to land for us. We need to hit him with everything we've got. Arrows, magic, whatever you can do at range. If we can get him to land, I reckon we stand a chance against him. Dragons can be killed, we know this much, or we'd all still be enslaved by them. Let's go. If we cut across the field to the tower, we'll get there faster." 

They all filed out of the city gates and down the path that led to the exterior of Whiterun's outer fortress walls. Across the field they went, and when they reached the watchtower, it was all but destroyed. It'd always been ruinous from age, but now the ground was singed with burning embers and smoke was swirling around in the air. 

"No signs of any dragon right now," Irileth said. "But it sure looks like he's been here. I know it looks bad, but we've got to figure out what happened. And if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere. Spread out and look for survivors. We need to know what we're dealing with." 

As he approached the tower, a soldier emerged. His voice was shaking. 

"No! Get back! It's still here somewhere! Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!" 

He could hear that distinctive roar in the distance and grabbed his bow. 

"By Kynareth... here he comes again!" 

Over the mountains, he saw the dragon approaching, and it was coming for them, fast. Part of him was relieved it wasn't the same one he'd seen in Helgen. Nothing could be worse than that. But with this new dragon also came uncertainty. He knew the worst they could face, but between that and the easiest, where was this one? The dragon swooped over them and he watched as it turned in the air and landed with a thud on the ground. 

_"Zu'u Mirmulnir! Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde!" _

"Stay away from his mouth! Loosen every arrow you have on this bastard!" he yelled, drawing a steel arrow on his own bow. Releasing the string, it shot forward and landed in Mirmulnir's chest. It wasn't enough to do any significant damage, but he did seem to roar in pain with each strike he took from Andrel and the other soldiers. "Keep at it, boys!" 

One of the guards got too close to Mirmulnir's tail and was knocked clear into a fallen stone wall, and he slumped over lifelessly. 

"Stay clear of his tail!" he shouted. Loosing another one of his arrows, everybody stumbled as Mirmulnir lifted off the ground and flew around the tower in a low circle. His maw opened, and Andrel ran for cover beside the fallen soldier, using his shield to protect himself from the oncoming flames. The heat was unbearable, and as soon as Mirmulnir had flown away, he grabbed the spare arrows from the fallen soldier's quiver before putting them in his own. 

Irileth was using some sort of lightning-based attack, and he could see Mirmulnir's body being cloaked in the sparks. Running up beside her, he nocked another arrow. The dragon landed again in the road, and he shot another arrow forth. "I'm going in. Look at how he's poised, and listen to how he's breathing. This is almost over." 

"You're a crazy bastard. Don't get yourself killed!" 

"I'm not going to. Have a little faith, Irileth," he assured her, jumping down. He landed on his feet and charged straight for Mirmulnir, releasing every arrow he had in his quiver on him. 

_"Krif krin. Pruzah!" _

Tossing his bow aside, he drew his sword and dared to get close enough to Mirmulnir's face to slash him across the face with his blade, twice. As the dragon tried to snap at him, he scrambled backward on his feet. As Mirmulnir's mouth opened to unleash another attack, he lunged forward and pulled himself up on the back of Mirmulnir's neck, holding tight to his horn as he hacked away at scaled hide with his sword. As he landed the killing blow, he could feel Mirmulnir's body begin to collapse and jumped down. As Mirmulnir laid dying, his eyes locked on Andrel in fear. 

_"...Dovahkiin? No!!"_

Giant bronze-colored eyes rolled back in their sockets and one last breath was exhaled before the beast went still. Mirmulnir was dead, his body laying lifelessly off the side of the road. A few moments later, Mirmulnir's body began to burn up. 

"What's happening? Everybody get back!" Irileth commanded. 

He backed up, but as Mirmulnir's body burned, something happened and the guards were somehow even more shocked than he was. 

Light wisps of energy shot straight for him, and the sensation of it disoriented him. He dropped his sword and fell to his knees, arms wrapped around his torso. When it first hit, it felt like everything went numb. And then, he felt like he was burning from the inside out. It was almost impossible to breathe. His head filled with what seemed like thousands of years of knowledge, giving him a nauseating headache. To the others, it looked like his entire body was glowing. 

By the time it'd stopped, he felt dazed but he could breathe again. Some of the information that he had learned had given him a better understanding of _fus_. He already knew what it was for, and what it would do. Now he understood how to use it, himself. And he hadn't just learned it - he had all but _mastered_ the understanding of it, in just a few moments. 

"I can't believe it! You're... _Dragonborn_..." he heard one of them say. He was well-read into the history of the former Cyrodiilic emperors. A fair number of the Septim rulers had been Dragonborn - legendary warriors that had once slain dragons and absorbed their power as they died. But that was several eras ago. 

Slowly standing, his sword momentarily laid forgotten on the ground. The others were still staring at him. 

"Come on, try to Shout!" 

"At you?" he asked skeptically, his brows furrowed. 

"You think I'm going to arrest you over it? Do it, now!" 

Turning towards the guard that addressed him, he hunched his shoulders. "If I knock you on your back, I better not hear any complaining. You asked for this." 

_"Fus!"_

All it took was _one word_. It was loud, but not yet thunderous. The raw power of his newly-discovered Voice made him stumble backwards and the guard he was facing was knocked off his feet, just as he suspected. The guard seemed to be over the moons with excitement as he got back up and dusted himself off. 

"That's it! That's the Dragon Blood! Just like ol' Tiber Septim!" 

"I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons..." one of the guards grumbled. 

"There weren't any dragons then, idiot. They're just coming back now for the first time in... _forever_." 

Andrel put his hands up. "Calm down, both of you. I need to get back to Jarl Balgruuf immediately and tell him what happened, here. Irileth, are you coming with me or staying here with them?" 

"I'm going to stay here. You go on to Whiterun." 

Gathering his sword and bow, he started back to the city. A few moments later, and the ground shook as a voice echoed from the Throat of the World. It was so loud, he was sure everybody in both Skyrim and Cyrodiil could hear it, but it was clear the message was for _him_. 

_"DOVAHKIIN!"_

He ran all the way back to Whiterun's gates and entered the city. The people's whispers were buzzing with what they'd heard, but they didn't yet know that it was _him_ they were speaking about. When he re-entered Dragonsreach, the Jarl and his brother were talking but he was quickly noticed. 

"Good, you're back, and alive. The Jarl's been waiting for you." 

Jarl Balgruuf turned to him. "So, what happened? Was the dragon there?" 

He nodded. "The dragon was there. He called himself Mirmulnir, and we killed him. But that's not all that happened..." 

"Go on. Tell us what happened." 

"I'm Dragonborn. When Mirmulnir died, his body burned up and I absorbed his soul." 

"So that was _you_ the Greybeards were summoning?" the Jarl's brother Hrongar asked. 

"It was, yes." 

"You should really go and talk to them. You're Dragonborn, and they're masters of the Voice. They can teach you how to use your gift. This is a great honor that's been bestowed to you." 

"It's a lot to process." 

"I'd imagine so," the Jarl smiled. 

"This hasn't happened in _centuries_ ," Hrongar commented. "The last time it happened, it was Tiber Septim, when he was still General Talos." 

Jarl Balgruuf stood and stepped down from his throne. "I want you to kneel for me. Just this one time." 

Kneeling down before the Jarl, he bowed his head. 

"You've done a great service to me and my city, Dragonborn. By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It's the greatest honor that's within my power to grant. I assign you Lydia as a personal housecarl, and this weapon to serve as your badge of office." 

The Jarl's steward disappeared into another room before resurfacing with a woman dressed in full steel armor. She looked like she could have been his sister, with her pale skin and brown hair. She stood off to the side of him to let the Jarl finish. Proventus also placed a one-handed war axe into the palm of his hand. It was old, but kept in good shape. The designs were intricate but traditional, and the city's insignia was carved carefully into a part of the leather wrapping of the handle. 

"I'll also notify my guards of your new title. Wouldn't want them to think you're part of the common rabble, now would we? We are honored to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn. This is the first and _last_ time I ask you to kneel for me. Rise." 

Again he stood, wearing a lopsided grin. "It's an honor to be your Thane, my Jarl. Thank you." 

"A piece of advice," the Jarl started again. "This gift you've been given is extraordinary, my boy. Most of us can only dream of the power you now possess. You're something of a _god_ among us, now. Treat your power with the respect it deserves, and the Gods will reward you for it." 

The Jarl wasn't ever calling him a "boy" out of condescension. If anything, it was endearing. Andrel had been an outsider and a total stranger in this city until just the day before and already he'd done so much to help the city's inhabitants, including risking his life to try and defeat a dragon he wasn't even sure he could beat. Most Nords treated their own race like their own flesh and blood. Vicious as they could be in battle, they looked after their own. 

"Of course. I'm still trying to process everything that's... happened today, but with time and help from the Greybeards, I'll get used to it. I need to send word to my parents in Cyrodiil, as well. They'll want to know what kind of trouble I've stirred in my first few days here." 

"Get some rest. You've earned it. And get to know your housecarl. Lydia's here to help you however she can, and be an extra sword in tough situations. She's a damn tough fighter, and I reckon she'll be a great help to you when you take the pilgrimage to High Hrothgar." 

"Thank you, my Jarl." Glancing over to his new housecarl, he gestured his head in the direction of the door. 

"It's an honor to meet you, my Thane," Lydia greeted with a smile, bowing her head. He started walking toward the exit, and she followed him. 

"It's nice to meet you as well. I figured we could sit down at the Bannered Mare over a flagon of mead," he suggested with a light smile as they descended the staircase. "It's been a rough few days for me. I didn't even get to Skyrim a week ago and everything's changed for me in the blink of an eye." 

"You can tell me all about it when we get to the inn," Lydia responded with a smile of her own. 

Once they'd reached the Bannered Mare, he opened the door and let her in before he entered as well, pushing the door shut after him. Leaning on the counter, Hulda's head perked as she saw him. "Welcome back, friend. Can I get you anything?" 

"Two bottles of mead, please." 

"Leave the gold on the counter and I'll have those ready for you. Saadia will bring them over." 

The gold needed was left on the counter. He and Lydia found a corner table to sit at and Saadia set their mead on the table with a couple glasses. 

"So," Lydia started. "Jarl Balgruuf tells me you were in Helgen when it was destroyed, yesterday. How have you been faring since then?" 

"It's true," he replied, rubbing his face with his palm. "I wasn't exactly supposed to be there. Got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Though in retrospect, I think it was supposed to happen, unfortunate as it is. Every time I close my eyes, I can see them all. You know, when I looked up and saw that dragon, I _felt_ something. I couldn't put my finger on what it was, but things have really started to make sense to me, today." 

"Like what?" 

"Bleak Falls Barrow, for example. The moment I got out of that cave with my friend Hadvar, I started hearing these words in my head and they were coming from the Barrow. I didn't know what any of them meant. But then Jarl Balgruuf sent me there to get that Dragonstone. There was this wall... Last night when I was asleep, I saw these runes in my dreams. They were the same ones on that wall. The wall had been calling to me this entire time. It's quieted down, now that I've 'read' it." 

"That's... fascinating. The Greybeards would be able to tell you more about that, I reckon. The runes were probably in the dragons' language, which is why you can understand them." 

"I think you may be right." 

"Forgive my curiosity, my Thane. But, what was it like? Absorbing a soul?" 

"I don't blame you for being curious. I'm curious about it all, too. I've always known what the Dragonborn is. I grew up in Cyrodiil. Tiber Septim is still something of a household name, there. To _experience_ it firsthand is something else. That first time was unexpected, so I was caught off guard. It was kind of painful, really. It's an immense amount of energy that's just siphoning into you, all at once. I felt drunk on it, and truthfully, I have a bit of a hangover, for lack of a better word." 

She couldn't help the smirk. "Are you sure you should be drinking, then?" 

"Probably not, but after the things I've seen in just the last couple days, I'd feel it's justified. I need a few days to recuperate and gather my wits, again. Perhaps travel to Darkwater Crossing and see if the things I lost are still there... The only thing I honestly care about getting back is the sword my father gave to me." 

Suddenly, it dawned on him. He _still_ had no idea what day it actually was. He'd slept on most of the ride to Helgen. 

"Weird question..." he interjected. "I kind of lost track of the days. What day is it?" 

"It's Morndas, and the 18th day of Last Seed." 

"I'll have to mark that down. I've yet to send a courier to my parents in Cyrodiil. They're going to know what kind of trouble I've stirred up here. I expect I might be due for a trip back to Bruma to see them and explain in person." 

"I am your sword and your shield, my Thane. If you'd like me to come with, I'm more than happy to assist." 

"I'm sure they'd love to meet you. Enough of me, though. How did Lydia of Whiterun end up being a housecarl for the Dragonborn?" 

"I've been training with the city guards here since I was a girl. My parents fought in the Great War for the Imperial Legion and I was raised by the Pelagia family while they were gone," she explained. 

"My father Vanrik fought in that war, as well." 

"And he's still alive? That was a rough war." 

"It was, indeed. I was three years old when it started." 

"I was still a baby. Sadly, they didn't make it out." 

He frowned. "I'm sorry, I didn't know." 

"It's quite alright, my Thane. That was a long time ago. The Pelagias and the city guards are my family, now. The Jarl took notice of my fighting one day and pulled me aside to ask if I'd ever be interested in being a housecarl for somebody. I'd been wanting to get out of the city for a while, so I accepted. And here we are. He said if he ever named another Thane of his city, I'd be assigned to that person." 

He raised his mug. "To the Legion and the Empire. Down with the Thalmor and their dogs." 

"Bold statement. Aren't you afraid somebody will hear you?" she laughed, raising her own mug. 

"I'm the Dragonborn. They can try to thwart me." 

"Spoken like a true Nord." 

"It will be a couple weeks before I'm ready to travel to High Hrothgar, Lydia. I plan on traveling to Darkwater Crossing to retrieve what I can of what I lost. Care to join me?" 

"It'd be an honor, Dragonborn."


	5. I.V THE WAY OF THE VOICE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY: After a dragon named Mirmulnir attacks the Western Watchtower in Whiterun, Andrel is dispatched by the Jarl to go help the town guards take care of the threat. When Mirmulnir is slain, Andrel absorbs his soul and knowledge, and unleashes his first Shout on a morbidly curious guard. He is summoned by the Greybeards to High Hrothgar, where he can learn more about what he is and how to use his newfound abilities.

The road from Darkwater Crossing to Ivarstead carried Andrel and Lydia high into the Jeralls. The trek upward was tiring, but he knew once he'd made the Seven Thousand Steps, this hike would pale in comparison. By the time they got to Ivarstead, he was exhausted. They'd been walking for almost a full day, only making brief stops when necessary.

The settlement of Ivarstead was bigger than Darkwater Crossing, but smaller than Riverwood. Riverwood wasn't anything special but even that little hamlet had a decent economy - it was enough to boast a blacksmith, general store, and the mill. 

Vilemyr Inn was to the right of the bridge as they entered the hamlet, and the inside was small, but warm. As he approached the counter, the owner of the inn peered up at him from behind the counter. "Welcome to Ivarstead, kinsman. The name is Wilhelm. What can I get for you?" 

"We just came in from Whiterun. We need two beds for the night, and as much food and mead as we can get with this," Andrel requested, putting a pouch full of gold on the bar. 

"There's a few rooms open right now. Pick whichever ones you want and get settled in. They're yours for the day. Lynly will bring you two something to drink and whenever you're ready, we'll bring your food." 

"Much obliged. Do you get many visitors here?" he responded. "You must have felt the mountains shake yesterday." 

Wilhelm nodded. "The Greybeards haven't called on anybody like that for centuries, not since ol' Tiber Septim." A moment of speculation, and he stared at Andrel. "You were the one they were calling for, aren't you, boy?" 

Andrel nodded. "A dragon attacked the western watchtower outside of Whiterun. We went out there and we killed the dragon, but after it died, I absorbed its power. I can hardly believe it, myself, but I'm hoping the Greybeards will have some answers. The last few days in general have been difficult. I was at Helgen, too, when it was destroyed." 

"By the Gods, the Dragonborn here in Ivarstead... The Divines have a plan for you, that much is sure. Tell you what, your mead and food is half-off." 

"That's not necessary, sir," he chuckled. "I'm not looking for special treatment." 

"Well, at least allow me to do something for you this one time," Wilhelm insisted. " 

A sigh, and the Dragonborn smirked. "Very well, thank you. But henceforth, please allow me to pay the full amount for your services." 

"Of course, Dragonborn," Wilhelm nodded. 

He was so used to being called "lad" by strangers, the name sounded foreign to his ears. News in Skyrim travelled fast, and it would have been impossible for anybody to not hear the Greybeards' call. He supposed this was something he was going to have to get used to, because before long, everybody would be calling him "Dragonborn". 

"If you'll excuse me, I need to go rest. Tomorrow my friend and I will be going up High Hrothgar so I can answer the Greybeards' summons." 

"Alright. Enjoy your meal, and when you go up tomorrow, watch out for the wolves. And I think Klimmek mentioned a frost troll den being up there near the end... Use fire." 

Andrel bowed his head and settled at the table next to Lydia. The pair spent the rest of the day resting their tired limbs, fueling their bodies for the next height of their journey to the monastery. A small table in the corner was claimed as they sat and talked over mead, while Lynly serenaded them with her lute. 

Bards were important, whether anybody wanted to admit it or not; they boosted morale. The inn was quiet when they came in, and that was fine, but when one settled in, the last thing they wanted to hear was _silence_. Music provided a cozy ambience and a pleasant distraction from one's thoughts. 

The evening passed and when the sun rose, Andrel felt a light push against his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he laid in the bed for several minutes to gather his wits before he forced himself out from under the warm hides. He joined Lydia in the main hall of the inn for some breakfast, and when they had food in their bellies, they left the inn and walked down the path to the bridge that lead to the monastery. 

Across the bridge and up the first small set of stairs was a small wayshrine. As he approached, he could make out words etched into the stone, which he read out loud. _"Before the birth of Men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus, their word was the Voice, and they spoke only for True Needs, for the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land."_

"There's bound to be more of these as we go up," Lydia said, adjusting her belt. "I reckon you'll have a lot of questions by the time we get up there." 

"Like I don't already?" he laughed in response, leading her up the pathway. A couple goats trailed up ahead of them 

"Fair enough," Lydia replied with a grin, pacing to keep up with him. Her eyes perked as she heard a pack of wolves howling in the distance. "By the Gods, that's chilling." 

"We'll be okay, Lydia," he reassured her. "They're more afraid of us than we are of them, but they are territorial. If we see them, we just have to make noise, throw some rocks perhaps, and they'll leave us alone." 

"Good point," she replied. "Still, keep your eyes peeled." 

As they turned into the next switchback, the path was walled by a large cliff, making their path seem a lot more narrow. As he looked down, Ivarstead was far below them, already, and they weren't even yet to the top of the mountain. His head craned up to look at the massive cliff towering over him, but he turned his attention back to the path until they came to the next wayshrine. 

_"Men were born and spread over the face of Mundus; The Dragons presided over the crawling masses; Men were weak then, and had no Voice,"_ he read. The path was blanketed in a thin layer of snow now, and there was a chill in the wind. 

"I'm sure you're going to ask the Greybeards about these wayshrines," he heard Lydia say. "But if you're interested in reading more about this, Farengar may have some books for you to read over." 

"I am, but I am also interested in those books. When we get back to Whiterun, I'd appreciate it if you showed me which ones to look at. You've lived in Skyrim a lot longer than I have." 

The path continued uphill, and a large boulder almost obscured the path going forward. He thought for a moment they'd already found another switchback, but it veered off to the south again as they walked. Now, it was snowing and the winds were howling. As they turned the corner, there was a small, steep incline. Looking behind him to Lydia, he nudged his head in the direction of the path. "It's a bit steep here. Watch out." 

"Of course, thank you." 

The path curled up west and to the south again, and as they got further up the path, there was a small clearing with another wayshrine, tucked into the corner. 

This time, Lydia read out loud. _"The fledgling spirits of Men were strong in Old Times; Unafraid to war with Dragons and their Voices; But the Dragons only shouted them down and broke their hearts..."_ – That's a reference to the Merethic Era. The old Nords of Skyrim used to worship dragons. They were the closest thing we could physically see of the Divines, then. Specifically, Akatosh." 

Each of the wayshrines had what appeared to be a dragon's head carved below the etched tablets. 

"And Akatosh created the dragons," he responded. "Admittedly, before now, I didn't used to think much about them. A passing thought here and now, but I was sure they were dead, just like most other people." 

"Let's press on, shall we? Keep the blood flowing." 

They continued on for a good distance. The edge of the path was now marked with squared stone columns and small piles of rocks with linen flags tucked in. The trail zig-zagged up and down the mountain a couple times before they found the next wayshrine. 

_"Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man; Together they taught Men to use the Voice; Then Dragon War raged, Dragon against Tongue,"_ he read. 

"One book you should definitely look into is _The Book of the Dragonborn_. I don't know if Farengar has a copy of it, but I imagine somebody would have it somewhere. Perhaps the College of Winterhold?" 

"I don't doubt the College would have it. But if I find it sometime before then, I will read it." 

"Excellent. Now, come on. We have to be getting closer, this mountain can't go on forever." 

"Good point. How are your legs feeling?" he smiled. 

Lydia laughed. "They're getting sore, that's for sure. Which is why we need to keep moving." 

As they continued, the path with straight uphill to a canyon. Lydia put her hand in front of his chest, keeping him from going forward and drew her sword. 

"Did you see that? Something's up here," she spoke, her eyes darting around their surroundings. He could hear some sort of growling, but it became apparent what they were facing. A creature covered in white fur was charging them. It had three black eyes, sharp teeth, and moved on its two hind legs. 

"It's the frost troll!" he yelled. Drawing his sword, he readied his weapon but bathed the beast in a spout of flames from his palm. The troll swung at Lydia, slashing into her chest, but her steel armor protected her from the worst of it, though it did knock her aside. The attack bought him time to muster up enough energy to use his Voice. 

_**"FUS!"**_

The troll staggered backward and roared at him, enraged by the Dragonborn's attack. It swiped again, this time at him. A searing pain erupted from his upper arm, the claws of the troll cutting into his flesh. He yelled in pain, clutching at his arm. Ignoring the sensation, he swung his sword, the tip creating a deep gash in the troll's muscular chest. Lydia was at his side and attacked again, putting every ounce of magicka she had at her disposal onto the creature, and Andrel followed suit, tossing his sword aside in the snow to use both hands. The troll recoiled from the heat, snarling and thrashing as they cornered it, and the troll fell dead. 

Lydia picked up Andrel's sword and stuffed it back into his sheath for him, when she noticed the blood running down his arm in streams. "By the Gods, are you okay? You're bleeding, badly." 

He winced, and knelt down, gathering some snow in his hands to wipe away the blood on his arm. "I'll be fine, just give me a minute to heal this." As he hovered his hand over the wounds, he watched as a golden light emerged and the wounds knit themselves to a close. He had some scars, but at least he wasn't bleeding. "What about you? Are you okay? It knocked you down." 

"Would have been a lot worse if you'd not used your Voice. Thanks for that." 

"Just because you're my housecarl doesn't mean I'm not going to watch your back, too. Sovngarde may sound like a nice place, but you're no use to me there." 

"Good point. Now go read that next wayshrine. It's at the end of this canyon." 

"Who's in charge here, again?" he smiled, giving her shoulder a light shove. _"Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world; Proving for all that their Voice too was strong; Although their sacrifices were many-fold."_

"I'll leave that one for the Greybeards," Lydia commented. "We can't be too far off." 

"The innkeeper said the frost troll den was near the end, so you're probably right." 

They could barely see downhill at this point. The wind was biting cold and snow was everywhere they looked. They couldn't even see downhill, at this point. The path went downhill and to the right, where they found another wayshrine. 

"This is the sixth one so far," he commented to Lydia. "This one says, _'With roaring Tongues, the Sky-Children conquer; Founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice; Whilst the Dragons withdrew from this World'_. That must be when the dragons started dying or disappearing." 

"Exactly. The Dragonguard started hunting down all the dragons loyal to Alduin. They were basically driven to extinction. Until now, we've all thought them to just be extinct." 

Fifty paces uphill, and they found another. This one was right at the edge of the cliff, looking down. 

_"The Tongues at Red Mountain went away humbled; Jurgen Windcaller began His Seven Year Meditation; To understand how Strong Voices could fail."_

"I see another one, right up here. Gods, these are getting close. I hope we're getting closer to the monastery." 

"Let's keep moving," he agreed. As Lydia pointed out, he made it a short way up the trail before they found another wayshrine, tucked into another little corner. _"Jurgen Windcaller chose silence and returned; The 17 disputants could not shout Him down; Jurgen the Calm built His home on the Throat of the World."_

Without stopping to chat more, he continued on down the path and Lydia followed. As they rounded the corner, High Hrothgar was finally in view. They'd made it. He soon found another wayshrine, this one settled underneath a statue of Talos. He figured if these Greybeards were so powerful, the Thalmor wouldn't dare come up here to pick a fight over it. Not only would it be petty, it'd be stupid, on their part. 

_"For years all silent, the Greybeards spoke one name; Tiber Septim, stripling then, was summoned to Hrothgar; They blessed and named him Dovahkiin."_

"That's you," Lydia joked in the background. "Striking resemblance, honestly." 

"Are you always this funny?" he retorted, tugging her along. There was one last wayshrine, standing at the bottom of the staircase. A twin set ran around the center tower of the monastery. _"The Voice is worship; Follow the Inner path; Speak only in True Need."_

Up the staircase, the Dovahkiin opened the door and stepped inside with Lydia. The winds were muffled, though now they sounded more like whistling. A man in grey robes approached him and Lydia as they entered. He couldn't tell how old the man was, but his face was marked with great age, his face wrinkled and hair a dull white. 

"So...a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age," the man spoke. He had a soft voice. 

"I'm answering your summons," Andrel replied. "This is my housecarl Lydia, she accompanied me here. Is it alright if she stays?" 

"Of course, Dragonborn. Now, we will see if you truly have the gift. Show us. Let us taste of your Voice." 

Lydia moved out of his way, but stood off to the side so she could watch. She'd gone quiet out of respect, and was simply there to observe, now. She gave him an encouraging glance, and he turned to the man, using the only Shout he currently knew. His Voice was loud and echoed through the temple, hitting the Greybeards from the front, though the one who spoke didn't stagger as much as he'd expected. 

"Dragonborn, it is you," the man said with a faint smile. "Welcome to High Hrothgar. I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?" 

"You summoned me. I want to know what this all means," he replied. 

"We are honored to welcome a Dragonborn to High Hrothgar. We will do our best to teach you how to use your gift in fulfillment of your destiny." 

"And what _is_ my destiny?" 

"That... is for you to discover," Master Arngeir clarified. "We can show you the Way, but not your destination." 

"I'm ready to learn whatever you can teach me. I have a lot of questions." 

"I will answer those questions to the best of my ability, Dragonborn," Arngeir spoke. 

"Thank you," he responded. His legs were tired, but he ignored the dull ache in his bones in favor of listening to the Greybeards. 

"Now, tell us everything of note that's happened to you in the last week. Spare us no details, we are here to help you understand." 

"I'm from Cyrodiil," Andrel started. "I came to Skyrim to join the Imperial Legion and help in the Civil War. I was caught in... I don't want to say the 'wrong place at the wrong time'. I'm not a criminal, but I was taken to Helgen and I was to be executed there. When I was about to be killed, that's when I saw the first dragon." 

"Yes, go on," Arngeir encouraged. "It was a misunderstanding, I presume. Why things happen the way they do cannot always be explained, especially where the Divines are concerned. What did he look like?" 

"Black, and red eyes. The way his hide and scales were, it reminded me of molten rock. He landed on the tower just above me and when I looked up, we were looking each other in the eye. I got this feeling, and then I didn't know what it was." 

"But it's becoming clear to you now," Master Arngeir finished, with a slow nod. "What else can you tell us?" 

"When I left Helgen, I started hearing voices. They were incomprehensible at first, but they seemed to be coming from Bleak Falls Barrow. I ended up going there as a favor to the Jarl, and when I found the innermost chamber, there was a wall with runes. They were louder once I was right there." 

"When you have the Dragon Blood, or you've studied Dovahzul the way we do, you become sensitive to its power. The Rotmulaag, _words of power_ , want you to come and find them, Dragonborn. You aren't going mad," Arngeir reassured him. "Now, we know you killed your first dragon just a couple days ago, and you've already learned how to use your Voice. It is our duty now to help you hone it. I know you must have many other questions, but you will have answers to them in due time. For now, we have a couple things to teach you." 

One of the other Greybeards approached him, though he didn't know his name. 

" _Ro_..." was the only word the man uttered, and the speech manifested into the ground before him. The runes were the same alphabet he'd seen in Bleak Falls Barrow, and the meaning of the word plunged into him, the same way "fus" at the word wall had. 

"Master Einarth will now give you his understanding of "Ro"," Arngeir spoke. Master Einarth gave a small bow, imparting his knowledge to Andrel as Arngeir circled them. "Ro in the Dragon Tongue means "balance". "Fus" means "force". Together, these two Words will work in harmony and you will have more stability and poise when you use them together. By itself, "fus" is raw, unbridled power. It needs focus to work at its full potential." 

Master Arngeir stopped once he was in front of Andrel again, and backed up. "Go on, show us again. And do not worry about harming us, we can handle it. Let the meaning of these words envelop you, and let it loose." 

"Very well then..." he replied. Lydia backed out of the way again, and he turned to Master Arngeir, giving him the breadth of his "attack". Arngeir stumbled much more this time, but Andrel didn't stagger as much as he did when he first used his Voice on them. The very ground seemed more secure under his feet, but his Voice unleashed chaos on anything in his direct path. 

When Arngeir was stable on his own feet, his mouth curved into a smile. "Impressive. Your Thu'um is precise. You show great promise, Dragonborn. We will perform your next trial in the courtyard. Follow Master Borri." 

The one named Borri turned and went up the small set of stairs, opening a door to a large courtyard. In the near distance, he could see a tower and an archway. The archway was blocked by winds so heavy, he couldn't even see the path ahead. Though High Hrothgar was still windy and snowy in its own right, the localized heaviness seemed to him to be a protective magic, concocted by the Greybeards, themselves. Borri instead walked off to the left, towards a small clearing with a large gate. 

"Now we will see how you learn a new Shout," Master Arngeir instructed. "Approach Master Borri again. He will teach you the first word of Whirlwind Sprint." 

Again, Master Borri imparted the Word and his knowledge to Andrel, who soaked in the new information like a linen sopping up water. 

"You learn a new Word like a master. And now, we'll see you put it to use. Master Wulfgar, a demonstration." 

Wulfgar gave the Dragonborn a short bow before turning towards the gate. Borri stood off to the side of the gate, where he Shouted. 

_"Bex!"_

The gate flung open, and Wulfgar Shouted in succession. 

_**"WULD... NAH KEST!"**_

Wulfgar was carried forth with the wind, stopping just a few feet short of the cliff's edge, past the opened gate, which had closed. Arngeir urged Andrel to go next and moved out of the way to allow him room. Staring at the small pillar, he waited until Borri opened the gate again. 

_**"WULD!"**_

In a giant _swoosh_ over the snow, he found himself half-kneeling next to the pillar, clinging to the freezing stone. His stomach was lurching from the sudden movement, like he'd jumped off a cliff - ironic when the cliff's edge was _right there_. Pushing himself to stand again, he crossed back over to Arngeir. 

"Your quick mastery of a new Thu'um is...astonishing," Master Arngeir commended. "I'd heard the stories of the abilities of Dragonborn, but to see it for myself..." 

"Thank you," the Dragonborn replied. "What now?" 

"You are ready for your next Trial, Dragonborn," Arngeir responded, walking towards the fortress again as Andrel followed. Lydia trailed after them. "Retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav. Remain true to the Way of the Voice, and you will return." 

"I still have some more questions, do you mind if we talk inside?" 

"Of course, Dragonborn." 

Once they were inside again, Master Arngeir lead him to a table with a couple chairs. Lydia stood off to the side, still watching her Thane. 

"So, I'm assuming the dragons returning has something to do with me," Andrel started. "We read the etchings on the Pilgrimage on the way up." 

"The appearance of a Dragonborn at this time is not an accident." Arngeir replied, his hands folded on top of the wooden table. "Your destiny is bound with the return of the dragons, but your destiny is for you to decide, Dragonborn. We cannot decide it for you, and are only here to help guide your path. 

"Yes, Master." 

"Do not stress yourself," Arngeir warned. "You are new to Skyrim, and you should first work on making a name for yourself in other ways." 

"What about the Horn?" 

"The Horn is your test to take when you feel you are ready," Arngeir replied. "There is no rush. Do not let your easy mastery of the Voice tempt you into the arrogance of power that has been the downfall of many Dragonborn before you." 

"Of course, Master. I understand." 

"Soon your path will be made clear," Arngeir reassured him. "For now, take your time. What did you come to Skyrim for?" 

"I don't suppose you would be happy to hear this, but I initially came to Skyrim to join the Legion. My father served in the Great War. I also wanted to travel." 

"I can respect your desire to help, Dovahkiin. Join the Legion if you truly desire to do so, but always beware of what you're fighting for. Perhaps take some time to think about what that purpose is." 

"Understood. Thank you, again," he responded. The part of him that came to Skyrim to join the Legion, came because he wanted to join the Legion like his father. However, Master Arngeir provided a fair point. Was he joining for _him_ , or was he simply following in somebody else's footsteps? 

"Any other questions?" 

"I hear you talk so much of the 'Way of the Voice', but what is it?" 

Master Arngeir clutched his fingers and shifted in his seat. "The Voice was a gift of the goddess Kynareth, at the dawn of time. She gave mortals the ability to speak as dragons do." 

"Right," he replied. 

"Although this gift has often been misused," Arngeir continued, "the only true use of the Voice is for the worship and glory of the gods. True Mastery of the Voice can only be achieved when your inner spirit is in harmony with your outward actions. In the contemplation of the sky, Kynareth's domain, and the practice of the Voice, we strive to achieve this balance." 

"And what about me? What should I do if I wanted to follow the Way of the Voice?" 

"That's commendable, Dragonborn. Remember, though. The Dragon Blood itself is a gift from Akatosh. Do not try to deny that gift. Your destiny requires you to use your Voice. As long as you use your Voice to the purpose of Akatosh, you will follow the Way." 

"And what of Alduin? He's a dragon. He was gone, but now?" 

"Yes, he is, and was. By your description, he is the one that you saw in Helgen. There is much you do not know, but you will learn when the time is right. As I said, there is no rush. You can trust us, Dragonborn. We would not obstruct your path without good reason." 

"Understood, but what does this all mean, being Dragonborn?" 

"Some believe that Dragonborn are sent into the world by the gods, at times of great need," Arngeir replied. "Whether a gift or a curse has been a matter of debate down through the centuries. You are mortal, but you have the blood and soul of a dragon. You possess a great deal of potential power, but beware that your skill does not outstrip your wisdom." 

"And this is why you want me to do other things, for now?" 

"Precisely, Dragonborn. I won't say much more on this matter, but dragons - even those like Alduin - are bound by a certain code of honor. Your destiny is tied to Alduin, but he will not attack you when you are not ready to face him. It wouldn't be fair, when you're just starting to figure out what you are. Such is their way," he told him. "Now, you must go. Return to High Hrothgar when you are ready." 

"Yes, Master Arngeir," he agreed, standing and pushing his chair in. Cocking his head at Lydia, the pair wove their goodbyes to the other Greybeards and traveled back down the mountain. 

When they reached Ivarstead again, they took refuge in Vilemyr Inn. He couldn't tell what time it was, but it looked to be around noon. The trip to High Hrothgar had been quicker than he thought it'd be. Getting up the mountain was the hardest part. His legs were aching again, and it was a massive relief to sink into a chair near the warmth of the fire pit, a flagon of mead clutched in his hand as his legs stretched out. 

"So, how do you feel about everything?" he heard Lydia ask him. Opening a single eye to glance over at her, he grunted. 

"Enlightened," he decided after a moment of silence and a sip of his mead. "Things are beginning to make a lot more sense. I want to find literature on the Dragon Wars as soon as I can, but not before I rest both my mind and my poor body. It's been a long last few days for me." 

"Understood," she replied with a laugh. "For a second I thought I was going to have to drag you down the rest of the way." 

" _Endless_ running around, and I haven't even gone to Windhelm for Annekke, yet," he groaned. "Once we're back in Whiterun, I'm going to bunk in the Bannered Mare for a few days. Maybe if I ask nicely, the man with the axe there will chop my legs off for me." 

"Okay, but do you have any _extreme_ thoughts?" she laughed. "There's a house for sale in Whiterun, just by Warmaiden's. Proventus could tell you more about it. With how hard you work, you'd have that house in no time, and I'd be there to watch over it for you while you're gone." 

"I'll look into it," he promised. The idea of having a home was nice. He couldn't carry his possessions with him forever, after all. "Gods, I don't even know how much coin I have." 

"Most steeds here cost a thousand. I reckon the house will be quite a bit more than that, but once you get it out of the way, you don't have to worry about it, anymore. It'll be worth it, I promise you. And after that, the gold will keep piling." 

"I hope so. Being taken made me near-penniless. Hadvar and his uncle in Riverwood helped a good lot with making sure I had _something_ after Hadvar and I got out of Helgen, but now I'm on my own. I suppose I can take on some small jobs around Whiterun and start building a fund up for myself." 

"Good plan. If you're looking for work, there's plenty around Whiterun. Someone like you would be a great fit in Jorrvaskr. I think they have lodging there for the members and you could probably keep your things safe there, until you can buy a home." 

"The Companions, eh?" he asked. 

"They're a group of mercenaries. People pay them a good amount of coin to solve problems around Whiterun. I don't know them very well, but I know Kodlak Whitemane is their Harbinger. You should talk to him, if you're interested." 

"You had me at 'bed' and 'chest'," he chuckled. For the rest of the day, their conversation was filled with talk of dragons, Alduin, and Ustengrav. Lydia was helpful in her many suggestions. He wouldn't go to Ustengrav for a while, but he couldn't put his finger on an exact date. 

The Greybeards wanted him to make a name for himself and become known in the community as somebody _other_ than the Dragonborn of legend, so that's what he would do. His stance on joining the Legion was still favored, but he respected Master Arngeir's warning, and was going to wait and travel around to see what he could before he settled on anything. For the first time in nearly a week, he felt at ease.


	6. I.VI THE HORN OF JURGEN WINDCALLER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY: Six months ago, Andrel had only just discovered what he was and he answered the Greybeards' summons. They sent him off on one last trial to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller.

As the months went along, the Dragonborn did as the Greybeards advised him to do. He needed the time to strengthen his Voice and train himself.

In the beginning, his alliance with the Companions proved to be lucrative as Lydia promised. With a bed to fall in at night and food always available to eat in the main hall, saving coin for more important things became a breeze. He had a home to call his own, a new horse for transporation, and his reputation in Skyrim was rising. 

The task he was given by the Greybeards remained buried away in his mind, but lingered in his thoughts as time passed. By the time he felt ready, he felt he must have killed over a dozen dragons. Using the whispering voices to guide him, he spared no expense to find whatever Words he could get to. He poured his heart into his research on the dragons and the Dragon Wars. 

With his head full of endless questions and theories, he couldn't bear to stay away from High Hrothgar any longer; it was time. He needed to go to Ustengrav, and he needed answers. By now, he looked a lot less like a boy from Cyrodiil, and a lot more like a weathered Nord warrior of Skyrim. He was scarred from head to toe, and his hair had grown almost half a foot. 

He found Lydia downstairs in Breezehome, sitting in a chair by the firepit. "Lydia," he announced as he stepped down into his common area. "It's time." 

"Time for what?" Lydia asked, turning to face him. 

"My apologies, it's been a while. Ustengrav, I need to go there now and you're coming with me. Grab your things and some food for the road." 

"Yes, my Thane," Lydia said, standing up. 

Andrel nodded at her and moved for the front door. He already had what he needed for the trip to Morthal. "Meet me at the stable," he ordered. "I'm going to prepare Allie and make sure she's got some food in her belly before we leave." 

"I will see you there. I'll only be a few minutes." 

He stepped out of his house and walked out of Whiterun's city gates. Down the path, he approached the stable where he had Allie stationed. Pulling a couple carrots out of his bag, he offered one of the vegetables to her. The horse sniffed at the orange root in his hand, her velvety muzzle opening to nip at the offering. Once she decided it was to her liking, she crunched off a large chunk and started chewing on it as her master loaded her pack with his things. 

"She looks happy," he heard Lydia say as she approached, giving Allie a scratch on her forehead. 

"I just gave her part of this carrot," he said as he glanced at Lydia, offering her the other half. "Give her this too, will you?" 

Lydia took the carrot from him and flattened her palm out, feeding the rest to Allie. "Remind me what her name's short for, again?" 

"Skulvar said her name's Queen Alfsigr," he said. "Pretty noble name for a horse, but she's so spoiled with how much they preen her, here. I think it fits her well." He gave the mare a pat on her shoulder, scratching at the ridge of her neck. Pulling Allie out into the sunshine, her black coat gleamed. 

Lydia had a horse of her own, as well, which she loaded up. Traveling became so much easier once they'd both invested in their steeds. "She's a beauty, that's for sure. And she seems to do well, she's always so relaxed." 

"It helps she's got good people to take care of her while I'm gone. I reckon Skulvar likes her quite a lot when she's here. She's my horse because I paid for her, but it almost feels like she's his horse, too, because he takes care of her for me. Keeps her fed, groomed, and happy." 

"Well. Shall we go, then?" Lydia asked, guiding her own horse out of the stable. The both of them mounted their steeds and he nodded in response, egging Allie on. 

"I'm ready. Let's get to Morthal." 

When they finally reached Hjaalmarch, they were forced to detour through the marshlands before he spotted the ruin. He and Lydia dismounted, seeing fighting in the distance. With some luck, they were able to stay out of sight and watched as their problem took care of itself. On closer inspection, they found dead mages and a pile of dust that was once a bandit, and then a reanimated corpse. 

"Necromancers..." he hissed. "At least we have some idea of what we might find. There's likely to be more inside." 

"I've got your back," Lydia affirmed. The staircase went down to the doorway of the barrow, and they stepped inside. Right away, they found a man laying face-down on the ground, dead. 

"Let me go look ahead and see what we've got. I'll be right back. You stay here," he whispered. He crouched down and crept forward, down the hallway to the first chamber. He crept closer to listen in and scope out their targets. As he hid behind a pillar and moved to the right where there was a short wall to hide him, he could hear them talking. The high ceilings were a welcome feature that made their conversation just loud enough for him to hear. 

"These thralls of yours are slower than Argonians in a blizzard," said a woman. 

"Feel free to grab a pick and help them out. I prefer not to sully myself with manual labor," scoffed another necromage. 

"There goes another one..." 

"Bah. Weak-willed rabble..." sighed the necromage. "Even dead, they're almost useless." 

"They seem less intelligent each time you raise them, if that's even possible." 

"As long as they can swing a pickaxe where I tell them, they're as smart as we need them to be." 

A ruckus came from down the hallway and he watched as both the women turned. "You hear that? The others must have found something!" 

"We'd better go see. These can tend to themselves for a few minutes." 

The women went down the hallway, and Lydia watched, perplexed, as Andrel vanished into the air. She knew he was there, but she couldn't see him. He was invisible, but he didn't use a spell and she didn't see him drink anything before he disappeared. He followed behind the women and they were caught in the middle of a fight with some nasty-looking Draugr. Figuring it best to leave them to that fight, he crept back where he knew he'd be safe to show himself and stood up, flagging Lydia down, gesturing her to come over. 

When she reached him, she furrowed her brows at him. "Where did you go? I couldn't see you for a second..." 

He put his finger to his lips before whispering. "I'll tell you later. They're fighting down there. I'm letting our numbers cull themselves so we can save our energy for whatever lies at the end." 

"Good thinking," Lydia whispered back. The voices died down and he grasped the hilt of his sword, leading Lydia down the same tunnel he'd seen the women go down. There was a chest, but he ignored it. They could always come back for whatever was in there, later. As they continued down, the floor was littered with dead bodies, both draugr and mage. The two women he'd stalked were among the deceased, and he swiped whatever useful items he could off the bodies. 

Continuing on through the corridor, they were given two avenues of travel. The path ahead of them seemed to carry on through the ruin, but his interest laid with the archway to his right. Looking to Lydia, he nudged his head in that direction and she followed him down the tunnel. There was a small room with a table that had some scattered gold, and to the side was a cutting in the rock. It was a sealed-off passageway and a chain hung on the left. He pulled, and another tunnel was revealed, digging down lower into the ground. As he walked down, he found another small room. A chest laid on the ledge, a temptation waiting for any adventurer with sticky fingers. He examined the room for traps, but couldn't find anything that looked suspicious. 

"This doesn't feel like it's going to have anything exciting... there's no traps. It's just here, and getting down here wasn't that hard, to boot," he concluded, opening the chest anyway. "See? A few lockpicks and a few coins. Why bother keeping it down here, at all?" 

"They did it to vex you," Lydia teased. "They must have known you were coming." 

"Ha-ha- _ha_." He smiled and shook his head. "Let's get that horn. Back up we go. I can hear another word wall, and I want to find it." 

As they reached the top of the tunnel, Andrel drew his sword, wanting to be ready if something attacked. A sarcophagus lid fell and a draugr slumped out, its eyes glowing blue in the dim light as it groaned at them. He didn't understand what kind of magic drove these ugly old things, but he didn't care in the moment. As the creature drew its weapon on them, its sword slashed in his direction, which he deflected with his own blade before giving a slash of his own. The draugr blocked his attack with its shield, giving another angry growl at the Dragonborn. Lydia used Andrel's distraction as an excuse to flank the draugr from behind and drove her sword straight through its chest, rendering it dead - _truly_ dead. 

"Disgusting creatures. Good job, Lydia." 

"Thank you," she responded. As a pair, they were nigh-unstoppable. Every draugr they came across was cut down moments after it'd detected their presence. As they continued on, they found a closed door that opened to another large cavern. 

_"Nonvul bron dahmaan daar rot fin fodiiz Bormah-nii los heyv do enook mun wah lahney voth ahkrin ahrk zin leh rok feim vodahmin kotin vulom..."_

The words poured into his head. They were so close to the wall. Motioning Lydia forward, he peeked through a window made of heavy vines. Light was pouring in from the ceiling, though he didn't know where they were in relation to Morthal. As they advanced, another growl sounded and he drew his sword to dispatch a draugr that'd been patrolling. 

"Not keen on these draugr, but at least the view in here is nice," he said to Lydia, keeping his voice down. The cavern was large, and he knew his voice would echo and give their location away, setting them up for a nasty scrap. Down the hallway, they found even more Draugr. These were tougher than the other ones they'd faced thus far, and both of them got bloodied in the scuffle. 

When things calmed down again and they had time to heal their wounds, he took a look around. They were in a room with tables that had old cheese and rotting meat laying everywhere. "This explains their bad breath and slim physique, at least," he pointed out. "Constantly sick because they eat spoiled food and refuse to stop. No wonder they always look so awful." 

"A better diet and a nice, hot shower would make them like new men," Lydia joked. 

"Look at this." he laughed, picking up a random sprig of wilted lavender. "At least they tried to freshen the place up, a little. I wonder how this place smelled about a month ago?" 

"Like death, and some flowers." 

Humor was really one of the only things that got him through these dank old places. The places were always teeming with un-life, and they gave him the creeps. He wasn't quite afraid, he just didn't like the way things felt. Joking about things eased the tension, but he hadn't forgotten his task. Looking up, he saw another bridge. "We need to get up there. Enough joking for now, I want to get out of here." 

Wiping the blood off his face with his sleeve, Lydia followed him through the hallway and up the stairs. They found another cavern, and he saw a mixture of green and purple on the ground. As they got closer, it changed color. There were three coffins scattered through the chamber. The colorful puddle was oil, and a lamp hung just above it. It must have been leaking, but a well-placed fireball would still set it alight. Just across the way, their path leading forward was right ahead. 

"I'm going to go out there and wake them up. I'm going to lure them to that puddle and when I'm back here, and they're all in that puddle, I want you to light it on fire." 

"Understood," Lydia replied. 

Andrel went off to the left of the room, wanting to loop around to catch them all. The lids popped off the sarcophagi in the cavern and he paced himself so they would follow him. Lydia was prepared for him, and as soon as he was over by her, she waited for the three undead denizens to step into the puddle. _Fwoosh._

The puddle lit up the room in a fiery blaze, burning only where the oil was. There wasn't much in this room that could be burned, but it took care of their problem in one fell swoop and they rushed forward to the next room. The tunnel veered off to the right and now he could see the cavern again. The words were still pulsing in his mind, but he attempted to shush them. 

As he approached the edge, he could see right ahead to the source of the word. It amazed him how well pine trees could grow in a place like this, and their earthy scent was a welcome exchange to the stench of stale cheese and beyond-spoiled meat from the previous room. As they continued down into the cavern, they were greeted again by even more draugr. The sound of creaking bones echoed through the grotto. An arrow flew past Lydia, almost hitting her as it whirred through the wind. 

"Watch yourself," he warned. The Draugr that came down to greet them was cloaked in fire as it stood on a pressure trap, and he watched as it crumpled, falling down the steps to land at his feet, the body smoking. Stepping over, the whole top of the stairs was covered in them but it was the only way to get to the skeletons. _"Wuld!"_

His Voice carried him over the traps without triggering them, and from there, the skeletons weren't a problem to deal with. A couple slashes of his sword, and they crumbled to pieces, unable to pester anybody else, not that anybody else would ever come this far through the barrow, again. He could hear Lydia fighting down below him, but things went quiet, except for the wall. 

Lydia had seen plenty of these walls by now, but each time was like seeing a new one. She loved the runes etched into the stone. They were important benchmarks of history, but they weren't always found in places beautiful as this. Sometimes they were stuffed away in some dilapidated old hallway that had more dust than wall. As he approached, he absorbed the new word. 

_"Noble Nords remember these words (of) the hoar father It is duty of each man to live with courage and honor lest he fade forgotten into darkness."_

"So, what's this one?" 

" _Feim_. Fade. I don't know what it does quite yet, but we'll find out later," he replied. Lydia followed him back up, the waterfall roaring with life under their trail. The noise faded as they got further away and he pointed to the next bridge. As they got across, they were attacked by yet another Draugr, but Lydia stole the kill. 

When things were calm again, he turned to stare at the three stones that were erect from the ground. When he stepped near one, a gate in front of them opened. There were three gates, one for each stone. "So. This here is why the Greybeards taught me that shout," he explained. "Those gates shut after a few seconds. You go through first, I'll keep the gates open for you." 

Lydia passed through to the other end of the hallway, and the gates closed. He knew this was part of his test from the Greybeards. With Lydia at the other end, it was his turn to try and get through in the only way he knew how. 

_"Wuld!"_

He shouted and he was carried forward, running as fast as he could, but the gates shut just before Lydia. Chains were installed, so he pulled and the gates leading back to the stones opened, though the last remained closed. He was going to have to try again. This time, he sprinted through the stones and shouted, but the gates closed too soon again and this time he got a face full. "Shit!" he swore, rubbing his face. "That didn't feel good." 

Lydia had a hard time holding back her laugh, and some of it escaped. "I'm so sorry, Andrel. But I have to admit, that was a little amusing to watch." 

"I'm glad I can entertain you," he retorted. "I'm sure Akatosh is getting a good laugh, as well." 

"Try again, you'll get it." 

Try again, he did. Again, and again, and again. The gates were quick bastards, and the grotto echoed with his frustrated swearing and groans of pain as he collided again and again with those stubborn gates. "Lydia, this is probably the most annoying thing I've had to do. I'm not saying for sure, but it's up there." He was rubbing at his arms and chest, trying to soothe the aching bruises he knew were developing under his tunic. 

"Concentrate, my Thane. You're rushing yourself," Lydia guided from the other side. "You already know these gates are timed. I feel like you've not been going into it with enough confidence and it's holding you back. You're too afraid of not making it through the gates, and it's backfiring on you. Don't be afraid of your power, or it can't help you the way it needs to." 

She had a point. He stood at a space that was just a bit between the three stones. Two on his right, one to the left. The gates were straight ahead of him. Taking in a deep breath, he sprinted forward and just as he reached the beginning of the gates, he shouted. His Voice carried him forward through the hallway and he stumbled to his knees at the stairs. He was through, and stood to face Lydia. 

"That was a good idea, Lydia. Thanks for the advice," he grinned. "Now come on, we don't know how much longer we're going to be in here but I feel like the worst is over." 

"You're welcome. And I knew you could do it, but don't think I'm going to forget how funny it was the first time you crashed into that gate." 

"As long as it's just the first time. We don't talk about the other six or seven." 

"I think it was more like twelve." 

"You're unbelievable," he scoffed, shaking his head. It was all in jest, though, and Lydia knew it. As they got upstairs, he could see the webbing on the walls. "Spiders." 

The floor on the platform before them was riddled with more pressure traps. He could get over them easily, but Lydia was not so lucky, especially in her heavy steel plate armor. "These are likely to spit fire. Come here," he ordered. As Lydia got closer, he guided her up the platform in the safe area. There was a landing straight ahead made of some dirt mound. No pressure traps. He needed to get the both of them through this tunnel and he wasn't going home with a roasted Lydia. Securing his arm around her, he looked down. "Hold on tight." 

His Voice propelled them across the platform and through the air until they landed on the dirt mound. Lydia was still clinging to him. "You alright?" he asked. 

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Let's just k-" 

Something behind him hissed and he turned to see a massive spider stalking him. Standing between the creature and Lydia, he shot a fireball at the creature, watching as its sensitive fuzz lit on fire, forcing it away from them. He drew his sword and turned the corner to find the same and another charging them. "Lydia, watch out for those pressure plates. Use a bow if you have to, I'm going forward to deal with them and I'll come back for you." 

Ahead he went to another chamber, luring the spiders away from Lydia so she could equip her own weapon. She followed him, bow nocked and ready to fire. There was still room for her to walk to the place Andrel went. She stayed on her safe spot, firing arrows at the spiders while he fought them up close, sword slashing through the beasts. When they were down, he flitted to Lydia and brought her to the safe space of the chamber. 

The way ahead was closed with a disgusting, sticky sheet of thick webbing. Using some flames, he melted away the blockage and found a wooden door. It opened to a hallway that gated off another chamber, but he could tell they were almost out, now. Pulling the chain to release the gate, the pair stepped down the staircase. There was a pool of water dotted by grand bird-like statues with open beaks. As he approached, his heart sank in his chest. Something was wrong. Where should have been a horn, was a piece of parchment. 

He didn't want to believe it. He couldn't believe it. They had cleared all the ruin of its livelier dangers. He'd made it to the end chamber but all his effort was there on that parchment, laughing in his face. Something ugly twisted inside him and he snatched the paper from its resting place, unfolding it in such a way that it tore. 

"Andrel?" Lydia asked, peeking over his shoulder. "Is everything alright?" 

"No. I'm furious, actually. Somebody beat us to the damn horn, and it doesn't make any sense." Reading over the note, his voice echoed through the chamber. 

"Dragonborn --

I need to speak to you. Urgently. Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I'll meet you.

\-- A friend" 

"Are you going to meet this 'friend'?" Lydia asked. 

"I have to get that horn, so I don't suppose I have much of a choice," he sighed. "Come on. We're getting out of here." 

Ahead was their way out, and it lead them back up to the initial chamber they'd come through. He was too angry to care about any of the things he was leaving behind, and as soon as they were out of Ustengrav, he mounted his horse and waited for Lydia to mount her horse as well. "Lydia, I think it's best that you and I part ways once we get back to Whiterun." 

"Of course, my Thane. I understand." 

"Thank you. I will be back for you in due time." 

Once they were back in Whiterun, Lydia dismounted at the stable and he pressed onward to Riverwood. The Sleeping Giant Inn was the first building in as he entered the city and he dismounted, tying Allie off. As he entered the Inn, he saw the innkeeper. "I'd like to rent the attic room," he said, offering ten shiny Septims. 

"We don't have an attic room," the woman said as she took his money. "But you can take the room there on the left. Make yourself at home." 

Exhaling, he strode off to the room she pointed out and crossed his arms as he waited for this mysterious so-called "friend". A few minutes later, the same woman came and stepped into his room, closing the door. 

"So you're the Dragonborn I've been hearing so much about... I suppose you're looking for this," she said, offering him the horn. 

He took a moment to look between her and the object, his brow furrowed. Grabbing the horn, he stuffed it into his bag, but his eyes pierced into the woman. He recognized her voice, and was trying to pinpoint where he'd heard it before, other than the inn. 

"We need to talk. Follow me." She lead him across the way to another room and looked at him. "Close the door." 

Closing the door behind him, he watched as she fiddled with the wardrobe. "You better have a good reason for dragging me here and wasting my time." 

"Calm down," she chastised, revealing a hidden staircase concealed by the wardrobe's back panel. "I'm only trying to help you, I just need you to hear me out." 

He didn't like what he was hearing, but he followed her downstairs from the wardrobe door. When they reached her basement room, she turned to him. 

"The Greybeards seem to think you're Dragonborn. I hope they're right." 

"You realize, I hope, how insane you sound," he pointed out. 

"You'll forgive me if I don't assume that something's true just because the Greybeards say so," she said, rolling her eyes. "I just handed you the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Does that make me Dragonborn, too?" 

His temper was rising, and he shook his head. "With or without your approval, I _am_ the Dragonborn. Do not patronize me. I don't have to stand here and listen to you disrespect me like this." Turning on his heel, he started for the staircase. "If you truly want to talk to me and want me to hear you out, perhaps you should spend some time down here thinking on how you should address me." 

He returned to Whiterun, seeking out the refuge of his bed as soon as he stepped foot inside Breezehome. Lydia kept her distance from him, knowing he needed space and to clear his mind. She was tired, herself. The next morning when she awoke, he'd already left for Ivarstead. 

When he reached High Hrothgar, Master Arngeir was waiting for him. 

"Dragonborn," he greeted. "It's good to see you, again. You've grown stronger." 

"I have the horn," he announced as he pulled the horn out and offered it to Arngeir. Arngeir bowed his head, but he didn't take the horn. 

"Well done, Dragonborn. You have passed your last test from us." 

The other three Greybeards entered the vestibule of the monastery and Master Arngeir stood off to the side. "Master Wulfgar will now teach you the last word of Unrelenting Force." 

Standing before Master Wulfgar, he allowed the old monk to teach him the next word. 

"'Dah' means 'push'," Arngeir explained. "With these three words together, your Thu'um will be more fine-tuned in the direction of your target. Force creates the power, balance stabilizes you, and push gives you precision of direction." 

"Thank you, Master Arngeir." 

"You have completed your training, Dragonborn," Arngeir said with a gentle smile. "We would Speak to you. Stand between us, and prepare yourself. Few can withstand the unbridled Voice of the Greybeards. But you are ready." 

As he stood in the center of the room, the Greybeards surrounded him. As they began to speak, the entire temple began to shake. Their Voices together were thunderous and loud. He was glad he'd not chosen to bring Lydia along on this trip. 

"Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu'ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau! Naal Thu'umu, mu ofan nii nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth! Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom! Dahmaan daar rok!" 

It was hard to stay upright with how much the ground shook as they Shouted at him. When the rumbling ceased, he straightened his posture. Arngeir approached him again, bowing. His voice was gentle, again. " _Dovahkiin._ You have tasted the Voice of the Greybeards, and passed through unscathed. High Hrothgar is open to you." 

"A question, Master... Out of curiosity." 

"Of course, Dovahkiin. What is it?" 

"What did you actually say to me, just then?" 

The Greybeard chuckled. "Ah. I sometimes you forget you are not versed in the dragon tongue as we are. This is a rough translation: "Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon. By our breath we bestow it now to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of Old. You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North, hearken to it." 

"Ysmir..." he repeated. "That's more of a given name than a title, isn't it?" 

"It is, yes. It is a name that must be earned. The Greybeards would still refer to you by your _true_ name, Dovahkiin, but in the general public you have more than earned the right to use Ysmir as your common name." 

"I'll have to think about it," he said. "Until then, I have more questions for you. Might we sit?" 

"Of course, Dovahkiin. Lead the way." 

He trailed off to that large room with the stone table where he took his place at the end. "It's been half a year since I last saw you all. In that time, I've been delving into research on the dragons and the Dragon Wars." 

"Commendable. And what did you learn, Dovahkiin?" Arngeir asked. 

"Alduin has returned, I know this. I decided to look into it a little more. My housecarl had a few books to recommend to me, and I found a prophecy. 'When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding, the World-Eater wakes and the wheen turns upon the Last Dragonborn'." 

Master Arngeir's eyebrow rose and he leaned forward in his seat, his arms resting on the table. "Yes, I'm familiar with it. As we said when you departed us last, there is much we know that you do not." 

"So Alduin is the World-Eater. When I was escaping Helgen with that Imperial officer, he said the dragons were the bringers of the end-times." 

"Yes. And?" 

"Alduin is supposed to devour the world and bring the opportunity for new life to be created," he explained. "But in the Dragon Wars, he became a glutton for power and he rejected his role. That was how his tyranny began." 

"Carry on," Arngeir encouraged. 

"I don't think Alduin is back because he wants to end the world. He's had his taste of power, and he doesn't want to let it go. He's strayed from the purpose Akatosh laid out for him, and that's why he was betrayed in the end, and why the old Nords staged an uprising." 

"You have been doing your research, Dovahkiin. What else do you think?" 

"I think, now that Alduin is back, he wants things to go back to the way they were before he was cast aside. And this is why I'm here. I'm supposed to kill him so then Akatosh can restore him to his initial purpose. The world may not end now, or even a thousand years from now, but it will end. We can't avoid it. That's Alduin's destiny, and no matter how much we may want to stop it, it will have to happen, eventually." 

"And you've accepted this?" 

"I guess, in a way I have. Humans can be selfish creatures, especially in matters of life and death. In the end, we're always going to want to save our own necks. But I know now is not our time. It's unlikely that any of us will be alive when that time comes," he replied, drawing circles on the table with his finger. "It's just a matter of finding out how I can stop him. If I _can_ stop him." 

"You will be fine, Dovahkiin," Master Arngeir reassured him. "You've come this far already, and you have a very interesting perspective on your situation. When you came to us, you didn't know what your destiny was." 

"Right." 

"And we told you, we cannot show you your destiny. We can only guide your path. Your actions are your own, we are simply here to help you. We are proud of how far you've come, just on your own." 

"Another thing... When I got to the end of Ustengrav, the horn wasn't there." 

Arngeir seemed surprised by this. "How is this possible?" 

"It doesn't make much sense to me, either. Somebody bypassed everything I had to do. I think she came in the opposite way. When we reached that chamber, the two sarcophagi in there were already opened and the draugr they contained were dead. But with the way Lydia and I went, we had to plow through draugr, spiders, and there were a few mages holed up in the first chamber." 

"So where was the horn?" Arngeir asked. "I'm not upset with you, I assure you. You went through the honest way." 

"It ended up being with the innkeeper of Riverwood, believe it or not. You should have heard her. She said, 'I just handed you the horn of Jurgen Windcaller, does that make Dragonborn, too?'. I was livid. She mentioned the Greybeards, too." 

"Be careful of this woman, Dovahkiin," Master Arngeir warned. "What did she say? Just because they were able to get to the horn before you, in no way does it make them Dragonborn. The Greybeards do not pay mind to trickery and false claims." 

"She basically said she doesn't care if the Greybeards "think" I'm Dragonborn, which is ridiculous at best. Once she gave me that line about the horn, I left. She still wants to talk to me about things, but I told her to watch her tongue. With or without her approval, I am the Dragonborn. I will not allow her to disrespect me, or you. You've all been helping me." 

"We appreciate you, Dovahkiin. I do advise caution with this woman, and we hope she can find it in herself to treat you with the respect you deserve. However, Dovahkiin, it may be in your best interest to at least hear her out, if nothing else. I will be here for you, should you need advice on how to deal with her. _Drem._ Peace. You mustn't lose your patience with her, or you may do something you regret." 

"Thank you, Master Arngeir," he replied. "I believe that's all I have to talk about for now. I must get back to Whiterun. I need to rest, and think about what my next step is, from here." 

"Of course, Dovahkiin. Su'um ahrk morah. Breath and focus." 

A bow of his head was given to Master Arngeir. The other Greybeards had gone outside to the courtyard, but he would see them again. Stepping out of the monastery, the Dragonborn made his way back down the mountain.


End file.
